


Kissing The Kingslayer

by MischaPetrovna



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ages have been altered, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Crush, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, I Tried, I took too many liberties, Slow Burn, altered ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaPetrovna/pseuds/MischaPetrovna
Summary: Arya Stark's Imaginary Coming Of Age Fic.CHAPTER I: Arya (Age 14) Jaime (Age 35)CHAPTER II (4 Parts): Arya (Age 16-18) Jaime (Age 37-39)CHAPTER III: Arya (Age 21) Jaime (Age 42)EPILOGUE
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Arya Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark (briefly), Tywin Lannister & Arya Stark
Comments: 213
Kudos: 315





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shelly_loves_Kale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelly_loves_Kale/gifts).



**Arya I: What Beautiful Looks Like**

If Arya Stark ever rolled her eyes, she would’ve done it already.   
But that’s not her.   
Instead, she fisted her palms and scowled.   
  
“It’s not stupid. YOU’RE stupid. You’re both stupid.” she declared.   
  


Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole howled with laughter in between their stitches.   
  


“Arya…” Sansa started. “You may be too young to think about kissing, but you can’t be serious about that answer.”   
  


“So tell us--if you had to kiss anyone right now, who would it be?” Jeyne posed. “And this time, for true.” 

  
“MY ANSWER WAS FOR TRUE, YOU IDIOT! I said I would kiss Jon!” she answered. “I’ve kissed Jon many times before and it won’t be any different.” 

  
Sansa sighed. “Jon is our bastard brother, you prat. He doesn’t count! Otherwise I would’ve said Robb, Bran or Rickon. It’s a different kind of kiss, you can’t kiss a brother this way. It’s when you lock lips and the world around you would stop--”   
  
“And a song would begin to play…” Jeyne hummed dreamily. “Normal ladies would pick the boy that they find the most beautiful--because they would have to kiss that boy everyday. You can’t kiss your brother everyday, so Jon doesn’t count.”   
  
“Well--Jon counts more than any sour faced prince on any given day.” Arya mumbled. “Besides, kissing and songs and stopping the world because you locked lips sounds boring.”   
  
“I told you, Sansa.” Jeyne mocked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your horsefaced sister never experiences a real kiss in her lifetime.”   
  
Arya threw her fabric on the floor and turned to Jeyne, her face smug. “And you may get kissed in this lifetime many times, but I promise you that none of them will be from Robb.”   
  


Sansa snickered while Arya sauntered out of the room without a backward glance. 

**\-----------**

  
‘Idiots. They’re both dreamy, stupid, and boring idiots.’ Arya thought as she paced across the practice yard, looking for Jon. ‘I wish I could choose to shoot arrows and practice swordplay over stitching. The boys get to have all the best things in the world while I have to learn embroidery with Sansa and her stupid friend and listen to them giggle about kissing.’

‘Jon is beautiful,’ she reasoned in her own head. ‘He should count. I guess they don’t even consider him because--well, he looks like me. Arya Horseface.’ 

The clanging melody of clashing metals immediately caught her attention and she turned her heel eastward, where she found the Kingslayer sparring with another knight from the Kingsguard.   
  
Jaime Lannister was highly renowned for his skills, and within a matter of minutes, Arya discovered why. She watched in awe as he danced in perfection. Every swing of his sword was precisely maneuvered and every dodge and block beautifully executed with grace that only a true warrior could achieve. 

  
‘Is this the song that Jeyne was talking about?’ Arya wondered as the sound of clashing blades soothed her. ‘The one everyone hears when they get kissed? If it is--then maybe I kind of understand what the fuss is all about.’

Jaime forced the other knight to yield with an impassioned cry and smirked victoriously. The North’s shy sunlight touched the golden strands of his hair, which mysteriously remained undisturbed despite the fair match, evidenced by the glistening sweat upon his forehead that later grazed his very defined jaw. 

‘This might be what beautiful looks like.’ Arya thought as another knight approached for a match. ‘The Kingslayer looks nothing like me nor Jon--nor like his prissy nephew, even if they have the same hair. I like the face he makes when he gets a good hit--maybe he feels like I do when I draw an arrow and land a bull’s eye.’ 

**Arya II: Every Target She Ever Aimed At**

“Just tell us, Sansa please? Any minute now, Myrcella will be here with her Septa and you won’t be able to.” Jeyne begged. “What was it like?”   
  
Sansa sighed, her face blushing. “I already told you! He--Joffrey…” she said the prince’s name like it was a dream. “Joffrey asked if he could walk with me, and he made The Hound stay back so he could hold my hand down the river bank and…”   
  
Beside Arya, Jeyne stifled a squeal.   
  
“He--kissed me.” Sansa whispered. “It was beautiful, Jeyne, I can’t stop thinking about it.”   
  
“There’s more, there’s more… I know! I can tell. GO ON, Sansa….” Jeyne insisted.   
  
“I wasn’t expecting it, but--he--” Sansa could hardly get her stitches aligned. “He slowly put his tongue inside my mouth after we locked lips for a while…I was shocked at first but--it… it was real kissing, it felt really good. I felt like I was going to faint, so he told me to close me eyes so he could do it more. He did, and it--it felt...”   
  
“Gods…” Jeyne heaved. “That sounds so wicked.”   
  
“That sounds disgusting.” muttered Arya, her stitches always a mess. “Sansa--we all had the red stew for lunch. Did he taste like the stew?”   
  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Arya.”   
  
Jeyne turned to her. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to worry about kissing anyone, horsey. Oh, and also, do shut up.”   
  
On any given day, Arya would’ve probably scowled and left them to go to the practice field. But today, she couldn’t concentrate on her stitching any more than she already was.   
  
Her mother would’ve been proud, if she had only known what Arya had planned to do. 

**\----------------**

‘I will never put my tongue in another’s person’s mouth. Never. Never. Never. But I WILL kiss someone, and it WILL count.’  
  
But who?   
  
Jon didn’t count, apparently. Neither do Robb, Bran or Rickon because they’re her brothers.   
  
Maybe Theon?   
  
Arya could almost taste the stew rise up from her stomach. 

  
She made her way down the tower from the sewing quarters, determined to keep her smugness about by accomplishing this mission--even if she’d never tell a soul. 

‘At least I’d know I did it. They can think whatever they want.’ 

‘Or maybe it would count if I kissed Jon with tongue?’ 

Lost in her thoughts, she hardly noticed Bran calling her name from the bow range, struggling to keep aim.   
  
“What?” she called back.   
  
“Why aren’t you at sewing?” Bran called as she approached him. “Mother was asking around about you.”   
  
Arya smirked. “I finished early.” it was truthful. “Come, let me.”   
  
Always resigned, Bran handed her the bow and stepped aside while Arya aimed at the target he’s been missing.   
  
With naturally effortless precision, she hit the center goal and a glorious feeling of satisfaction swept all over her body.   
  


“Show off.” Bran teased, but she knew it was his gesture of commendation.  
  
Arya always feels her best when she’s wielding a wooden stick and practicing with the bow. For a moment, thoughts of Sansa, Jeyne, kissing, and being ugly were far from her mind. 

  
“Well done, Lady Arya.” a deep, husky voice called from behind them. “You seem to have natural talent with the bow.”   
  
Well--just until then. 

Arya turned to face Jaime Lannister, who casually leaned against a pillar. He didn’t wear his armor today, just a well fitted white tunic and brown trousers and boots. But he looked--well, really nice leaning on that pillar.  
  
‘Has he always been so tall?’   
  


‘Why is my mouth dry?’  
  
“Hello, Ser Jaime.” greeted Bran shyly.   
  
The Kingslayer managed a grin, his exposed forearms crossed as he studied her further.   
  
Arya felt a nudge on her shoulder from Bran--she realized she hasn’t said anything.   
  
“Ser Jaime.” she managed, feeling her cheeks redden.

  
‘Gods, I’m an idiot.’ 

“I didn’t scare you, did I?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing scares Arya, Ser Jaime!” Bran laughed. “Not even Mother!” 

Arya bit her lip and stared at the floor. This may be the first time ever in her life that she’s felt powerless with a weapon in her hand.   
  
“That’s good to know.” Jaime managed, still not looking away from Arya. “We need more of you in the Kingsguard one day. You’ll make a fine knight.”   
  
Arya’s felt flutters below her navel. She tried to ignore it.   
  
She really tried to ignore it.   
  


But she looked up at him for the first time and a grateful smile came upon her lips.   
  
“Thank you, Ser.” she whispered. 

Jaime smiled in return, excused himself and entered the castle. 

  
For the rest of the day, Arya felt as if she hit every target she ever aimed at. 

**Arya III: The Plan**

Today was the day.   
  
Arya knew who she was going to kiss, and she was going to do it. 

She was going to kiss The Kingslayer. 

It was a perfectly formulated plan. Three days a week, The Kingsguard go down by the plaza in Wintertown to practice, led by Jaime. Arya observed that after he washes himself by the barrels, he takes a nap by the hammock isolated from the campsite. While he slept, she would sneak one in, and that kiss would count for the rest of her life. 

She was careful not to touch the Winter Roast that Nan made for lunch that day, just in case--well, just in case for nothing. Nothing at all. But just in case, that’s all.   
  
“That roast is your favorite, Little Wolf.” remarked Ned Stark from the high table. “Are you not feeling well?”   
  
Arya shook her head, gathering some loose grapes and berries on her plate instead. “No father--I don’t have the appetite for it just now.”   
  
Catelyn Stark smiled knowingly. “Your sister was the same age as you are now, when her flowering happened.”   
  
Arya grimaced. All she cared to know about flowering was that it would cause her to bleed once a moon. She didn’t mind the bleeding on her knees and elbows that she got from sparring with her brothers, but flowering is a disgusting thought altogether.   
  
“And now--I really don’t care to eat.” Arya sighed. “May I be excused?”   
  
“Will you be late for sewing again?” asked her mother with a raised eyebrow and her siblings all snickered.   
  
“Father, may I be excused?” Arya asked instead, knowing he would be easier.   
  
“See that you make it to your sewing lessons in time, and you may be excused.” Ned answered with a scoff from his wife.   
  


**\--------------**

Arya attended sewing and virtually heard none of Sansa’s or Jeyne’s usual snides.   
  
Oh they probably taunted her, but she was determined to carry on with her plan today, and it was all that filled her mind.   
  


This will be the last training day for the Kingsguard before they depart back for the South in two days. This will be the only chance that she’s going to get.   
  
The Septa wasn’t satisfied with her needlework and asked her to do it again.   
  
“You did this one in haste. Beauty takes time and effort.” she remarked. “Do it again.”   
  
“I did it so I can get out of here.” Arya complained.   
  
“Arya Stark--get back in your seat and do it like your sister!” Septa ordered firmly. “NOW, before I tell your mother!” 

Her plan was foiled.   
  
By the time Septa Mordane let her leave, the afternoon sun was on its way down--and she wasn’t going to make it to the plaza. 

  
  


**Arya IV: At Least Once**

  
Arya hated dining with the royal family.   
  
Robb had to act all--lordly and sit with the bannermen, Bran and Rickon get to act all grown up with Theon, and Sansa would make eyes with Prince Joffrey all night while the King drowns himself with liquor beside her parents at the high table and the Queen stares at the whole scene with the most dissatisfied look on her face.   
  
Most of all, Jon wasn’t allowed to eat with them while they visited Winterfell because it would insult the Royal Family according to her mother. Jon would’ve kept her company.   
  
Oh, and second most of all, Jaime usually ate outside with The Kingsguard too--not that she cared about that though. 

Because she skipped lunch, she had her fill of the mutton chops cooked in apples while everyone carried about their business. As soon as she was confident that she wasn’t going to be noticed, she slipped out of the dining hall into freedom. Hoping to at least get to shoot some targets or hit a dummy with a wooden sword before she had to be dragged to her chambers to have a bit of victory after Septa Mordane ruined her day. 

Luck didn’t seem to favor her side, though--because she encountered Tyrion Lannister and Jon talking at the practice yard. 

‘Drats.’ she thought. She would’ve been able to get away with just Jon in the field, but she didn’t know about The Imp.   
  


Resigned to not get any victory today, she dragged her feet back to the castle courtyard, feeling really blue. 

  
She really wished she could have done what she wanted to do today.   
  
‘Who cares? Kissing is stupid. I don’t have to kiss anyone to become the best swordsman in all of the world. I would be the best battle warrior in the history of Westeros! I could do all of that and not kiss anyone in my life, ever. Even if I didn’t kiss The Kingslayer--’   
  


‘Even if I don’t ever get to kiss The Kingslayer just once--’   
  
‘Who am I kidding? After Sansa marries the stupid prince, and I start to bleed, my parents will wed me off to some other lord that I have to kiss for the rest of my life and have his stupid lord children. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. I shoot arrows better than Bran, I should at least be considered to squire for someone. I’d rather be The Kingslayer’s squire than be some lord’s wife.’

In her reverie, Arya didn’t notice that her feet had taken her to the entrance of The Godswood trees. Everyone had been preoccupied by the dinner that no one was there to watch this part of the entrance.   
  


She went in, dragging her feet--her insides rejoicing the solace that she came upon. She marched straight to the heartfaced tree and touched it gently with the tip of her forefinger. 

“Old Gods…” she whispered as the chill of the North soothed her. The place was only lit by the stark moonlight, yet the face shone brightly upon her.   
  
“Old Gods--if you’re listening.” she continued. “I want you to know that I don’t care that I look like a horse--because… Well, because you made me wield a bow and sword really well, better than my little brothers--Jon said that I was probably better than himself at my age. If that’s the price I have to pay to be this good and not boring, then that’s alright.”   
  
“But--why did you make me love weapons and not be able to choose whether I become a knight someday? My father said that I would marry some lord when I grow up and have his children, probably because that’s what my mother did for him, and what Sansa will do for that dumb prince--but--that’s not me.”   
  
She sat down in front of the tree and clasped her hands together. 

“If that’s the life that I’m imprisoned to have, please give me a lord husband who is not stupid. Please make him like my brother, Jon--he doesn’t care that I love weapons and hate embroidery and dresses. I hope he doesn’t ask me for a lot of tongue kisses like what Prince Joffrey and Sansa have been doing--”

She closed her eyes in silent prayer.

‘At least let me kiss The Kingslayer once.’ 

It wasn’t her mind that spoke.

It was probably her soul.

  
Arya’s lids flew open in her own disbelief. ‘Did I really ask for that? I don’t care about it that much, do I? Am I really that desperate for a victory today?’

Gods--I’m an idiot. 

“I’m sure your father won’t hand you off to just any ‘boring’ lord, young lady.” an amused voice chided from behind her. “And a wise young man worthy of your hand one day will appreciate your love of weapons.” 

Arya stood abruptly and turned her chin up to meet Jaime Lannister’s deep emerald eyes.   
  
He still donned his Kingsguard armor, boasting the Lannister Lion proudly on his broad chest. He smiled down at her, the pearls of his teeth boyish despite his manly features. 

Arya bit her lip. “What are you doing here?” 

  
‘Did I say the last bit out loud? Gods--please tell me I didn’t.’ 

Jaime laughed. “Am I not welcome here, young lady?” 

Arya shook her head. “You don’t worship the Old Gods--you’re not of the North. I’m only wondering what you were doing here…”   
  
Jaime shrugged. “I apologize for interrupting your prayers, Lady Arya. I saw you enter the woods unsupervised and had to make sure you were alright. I intended to make my presence known but your recital was simply too adorable to interrupt.” 

**Jaime I: The Smile That Made A Hero**

Jaime absolutely hated this blasted trip up North.   
  
He still couldn’t understand why on earth Robert couldn’t have secured the matrimonial alliance of Joffrey and Sansa by raven.   
  
‘Ned--you have a daughter, I have a son--we will join our houses.’ 

Done.

He was after all, the King.

Who would refuse a King? 

Sure, his natural son was a twit, but the North could only benefit from this alliance. 

So why the humble show of propriety? Seriously, Robert? Propriety? After endless days of putting Jaime on guard at the door while he defiles his beloved’s honor as he fucks all the whores of King’s Landing? 

But of course. 

The legend of Lyanna Stark. 

Lyanna never left Robert’s mind despite having Jaime’s true love as his wife. 

Wife. 

But her heart and soul belongs to me. I am her and she is me.   
  
It’s enough.

It has to be. 

Cersei never bore Robert’s children. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were his. 

It’s enough.

Upon arriving in Winterfell, he knew that sneaking his sister away would be scarce, if any. They didn’t know the grounds well enough to find a spot and Cersei was far too upset about their son’s betrothal to the kin of her rival. 

The Starks were as always, quite boring to him. Old Ned remained aloof, only speaking naturally to Robert--as if the Lannisters played no part in his successful rebellion, as if he didn’t gain his own notorious moniker for his reign. Catelyn acted as cold as the North in her reception, a permanently forced smile ruled her lips and their heir Robb always seemed on guard. The younger children were a bit interesting, he supposed. Lady Sansa only had eyes and giggles for Joffrey and the younger boys were more carefree in play, which was nice to watch as his own children were forced to adhere to strict rules as part of the first royal family. Though he never got to interact with Ned’s declared bastard, the boy got on well with his brother Tyrion and was hardly seen with his family during their visit. 

He would have to declare, however--that the most interesting one to watch was Arya Stark. 

She was often called, ‘Lyanna reborn,’ he was informed--because unlike her siblings, she inherited all of her features from the North. Unlike Sansa, Arya’s hair was often kept wild and loose on her little shoulders, and there was often dirt on her nose, elbows and knees when he comes upon her on informal settings. 

He later discovered that she probably earned her own nickname because of her rebellious nature. Lady Stark often complained about her younger daughter acting mischievously, preferring to play with her brothers and ‘the bastard,’ instead of learning how to knit and sew. Arya was determined to ride her horse ‘properly,’ and not on sidesaddle or inside a carriage during a trip to Wintertown. The girl also had a gift and keen interest in wielding weapons, which Jaime found to be fascinating. He once encountered a very precise hit on a decently gapped target with a practice bow, and he complimented her kindly, as deserved. 

The smile upon her face that day was priceless. 

He could compare it to how his own children made him feel--the tight grip on his forefinger when Tommen was barely days old, or when Myrcella clung to him desperately to be taken away from her mother during lessons--but no. 

It was a similar feeling--but not quite the same. 

The girl’s smile made him feel as if he saved the world with his words. Surely, with a mother like Catelyn, she wouldn’t have gathered such commendation for shooting a target so well, on the first try. But didn’t she have brothers who enabled her? Tolerated her passion? 

Of course she did. 

Yet when Arya smiled at him gratefully for his compliment, Jaime felt as if he had done something so heroic.

It’s as if in that moment, he wasn’t a Kingslayer. 

In the days after, he couldn’t help but notice the most mischievous scowl on her face whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.   
  
Arya Stark often watched him keenly when he sparred with his men, like it was the most beautiful event she had ever witnessed. Yet lately, when he wasn’t sparring, or when he ate or rested by himself, she no longer seemed to be watching in ‘amazement.’ 

Was it wonder? 

The girl often bit her lip when she stared at him now, as if highly contemplating something. It made him laugh wholeheartedly when he greeted her once as she rounded the corner of the castle and came upon him--and she responded with the widest eyes possible, much like a child caught with a treat they shouldn’t have, and a curt nod. 

“Yes, thank you.” she managed, and she scampered off. 

He never asked her a question. 

**Jaime II: A Hundred Beats In Half a Second**

“And--as opposed to what you’ve been told, you are far from being a horseface, young lady.” he continued, a little pleased by her startled yet undaunted gaze. “I have met your Aunt Lyanna, she looks nothing like a horse--and you do look a lot like her, a Northern Beauty.” 

Arya’s brows furrowed. “If you’d really been listening, you’d have heard that I do not care about being beautiful--”   
  
“Doesn’t make it untrue.” 

“--and I happen to think that horses are beautiful creatures.” she continued. “Besides, I don’t really care about--what others think of my appearance.” 

“And I should hope that you continue to think that for all your days. Some of us--have to constantly remind ourselves to not care, yet it cannot be helped.” 

She looked up at him and didn’t say a word, her steel eyes full of wonder. 

“And not just appearances--may I add.”   
  
“Of course. You don’t have anything to worry about as far as--”   
  
Jaime raised an eyebrow as the girl’s face reddened.   
  
“They might be--looking for me. I snuck out during dinner and mother will ask for my wildling head once I’m discovered. I’ll be--I’ll go now.” The girl muttered as she moved to saunter off. 

“Are you sure, Lady Stark?” Jaime asked. 

Arya adorably scowled as if he had insulted her. “Augh. Lady Stark is my mother, and my sister--I’d rather be called horseface.” 

Jaime smiled. “I happen to know that our brothers have left the practice field to greet your Uncle Benjen with my men at the barracks. The place is empty now.”   
  
Arya’s eyes lit up in delight, and Jaime once again encountered a warm feeling inside.   
  
“Truly? How did you know---”   
  
“Truly.” Jaime firmed. “Now, the armory is unfortunately locked up as the keeper’s orders…” 

Arya let out a short, dismayed sigh.  
  
“But I was able to procure--” Jaime pulled out a small wooden sword from his second sheathe. “I saw you walk into the Godswood from the practice yard with the saddest look upon your face. So--I took this for you before they locked up and--” 

  
When the young girl looked up at him again, the same smile from days past fell naturally upon her lips. 

Actually, her whole face. 

Jaime had hoped, somewhat expected to elicit another gesture of this specific gratitude from her, but what he didn’t expect was his instant feeling of pride for having been able to do so. 

He saved the world, again. It was as if he gifted her with a crown.  
  


“And now, young la--” he feigned a cough and formalized his tone to further amuse her. “Forgive me, Commander Stark. Will you reward this knight with a favor?”   
  


She looked at him expectantly.   
  
“The smile upon your face just now? Always wear it--no matter what.” He handed her the sword. 

“Go on--the field is empty and His Grace is only halfway through his cups. You’ll have time…” 

Before he knew it, the young girl tossed the sword to the side and ran to jump at him, then clung to his torso tightly.

What? What is this?

She was hugging him. 

The steel of his armor did not permit him to fully welcome the embrace, but his arms automatically caught her, supporting her skinny weight to his body.   
  
Arya’s head nestled on his shoulder and the feeling of hospitality tugged at Jaime. He wondered when the last time something so pure was granted to him? His children, maybe. Cersei? Surely not. Forget about his own father, of course. Tyrion, more likely, as his constant bantering with his brother has always been affectionate, deep down. 

But something so pure? Like this? He truly couldn’t recall. 

One of his hands instinctively touched the girl’s hair, to provide comfort, and to welcome the gesture. 

The girl slowly parted from his shoulder and his emerald eyes studied her steely, curious gaze.

Arya’s brows furrowed mischievously--nervously? He couldn’t tell. 

She bit her lip again.

“You’re welcome.” Jaime laughed. 

And then, without any warning, she pressed her soft lips against his. 

It didn’t last a second, but Jaime swore that he felt her heart thunder through his armor a hundred times before she parted.  
  
Arya abruptly untangled himself from him as casually as she could and retrieved the sword from the floor. Her feet swiftly took her to the entrance of the Godswood before she paused and turned her little head to where he stood with another curt nod. 

“Thank you.” she muttered, before walking away without a backwards glance. 

Jaime stood dumbfoundedly between the trees for some moments before he started laughing out loud. That was certainly one of the sweetest moments in his life. 

He knew one thing for certain; that beautiful, fiery, little wolf will break a lot of hearts one day. 

**Arya V: A Champion’s Cheek**

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Sansa remarked two days later. “Too quiet.” 

“You’re welcome.” Arya responded with a smirk as she bit her bread, earning a proud shrug from Robb beside her. 

Sansa rolled her eyes and stirred her porridge with the silver spoon so daintily, with the saddest look upon her face. 

The Royal Family was set to depart for King’s Landing in the morning. The marriage contract between Sansa and Joffrey was finalized last night, she was informed. When Sansa turns eighteen in two years, she will depart for The Red Keep and they will be wed then. Father and The King agreed to keep the engagement under wraps until Sansa is introduced to court. 

“Believe it or not, I’m just trying to make my presence pleasant for you. You always tell me to shut up.” Arya remarked, chowing on a forkful of braised meat. “So--I’ll do my part and shut up--until you get over Joffrey--”   
  
“Prince Joffrey.” Sansa firmed.

Arya sighed. “--leaving. You’ll still see him tonight for the final feast of their visit--fortunately for you and not quite so fortunate for the rest of us who don’t want to lose their appetites.” 

Robb laughed. “So much cheek, little wolf! These past two days you’ve been so--you’ve been walking around the practice field with the proudest little strut, challenging even Theon to spar--”

“Arya Stark…” Catelyn warned from across the table. 

“Thanks, ass.” Arya whispered, earning another glare from her mother. 

“Language!” Catelyn shrieked. 

“--as if you can defeat anyone!” Robb finished. “I quite like it, but--” 

“You don’t think I can defeat anyone? If I put my mind to it?” Arya challenged. 

Bran and Rickon snickered. 

Robb smiled and placed a loose hair behind her ear. “Of course you can, little wolf. Jon and I have always told you--it still doesn’t mean that you should go and look for trouble…” 

“I better not see you anywhere near the practice range today, Arya…” Catelyn’s lecture started. 

Arya shrugged. Jon always told her that, true--and Robb echoes his sentiments--but Jon always believed in her abilities like no one else in the family had when she knew that deep down, Robb only meant to be supportive and encouraging. 

She felt his lips press against her temple and she looked up at him gratefully. Jon would’ve mussed her hair and treated her like an equal--but Robb always tried to treat her like a princess, she didn’t mind that today.

Arya tried not to think about two nights past consciously, but she couldn’t help it.

The original plan was to steal a kiss from him unknowingly, true. But how she actually achieved her mission was much more satisfying than her intended plan. 

She looked straight in his eyes and took her only shot. 

She won. 

If she could only tell Jon about it, she would. But somehow, even she felt that her accomplishment wouldn’t garner neither his praise nor his approval about this matter.

Besides, the smug secrecy of it all only amplified her victory.

She didn’t need anyone to know about this for it to be valid. Sansa and Jeyne could make fun of her all they want, but she would always know--that while Sansa had to kiss Joffrey’s ugly face for the rest of her life and Jeyne would beg anyone else to kiss her; that she had stolen her only kiss from the best swordsman in the entire world. 

Sansa lied, though. She said that a song would be heard during a kiss, and the world would stop in its tracks-- or whatever she said. 

It wasn’t true. 

Kissing the Kingslayer was simple--it was over within moments. 

So why was she still thinking about it?

There was no song, the world went on--and though she didn’t stop by the practice range that night, a sweeping feeling of victory was instilled in her.   
  
Even two whole days later. 

Will I carry this feeling for the rest of my life? 

Arya took another slab of beef from the main plate--with a proud smile overtaking her entire demeanor. 

**Arya VI: What The...**

Arya dared to sneak away from the castle shortly after lunch--feeling extra lucky. 

The Septa cancelled their daily sewing session for the afternoon, which was great news. 

But her mother had barred her from the practice field. Bad news. 

Arya was then asked to join the Queen, her mother, Sansa and Myrcella for a cup of tea--really bad news. 

But Joffrey asked his mother to release Sansa so he could take a private walk with her before they had to depart the following morning. Good news. 

The Queen seemed reluctant, but conceded. She then dismissed the invitation for Arya and Myrcella to join, so she could have her own private conversation with Catelyn. 

It’s a beautiful day, then. 

It has always been easy for Arya to sneak out--she intended to find Jon to convince him to join her adventure, but alas--the men had gone to go hunting with The King and some of the Kingsguard. 

Jaime must’ve gone with them too. 

Undeterred, she took a wooden bow and some arrows from the unguarded armory and made her way to the fields that she knew well enough to navigate. 

She guessed that the hunting party would seek the great woods, for a bigger game. She didn’t care much for group hunts, greatly preferring stalking hares and smaller animals that she could clean on her own. 

Alright, with Jon’s help.   
  
Maybe. 

Arya went deeper into the fields, careful on her feet to not alert nearby game. She briefly contemplated hunting birds, as they seemed to have been plentiful this afternoon--but concluded that it wouldn’t be the best idea because her arrows were limited at the moment.

Then nearby, she heard rustling.

Quietly on her leather-clothed feet, she stalked towards the noise, she had her arrow at the ready, poised on her small bow. Arya nestled herself quietly behind a tree to determine her prey. 

A rabbit?  
A fowl?  
A rat?  
A snake?

As soon as she peeked, Arya's heart stopped.

She was probably too focused on determining the rustle of fallen leaves, or the gentle wind as it disturbed the branches--that she didn’t hear gagged moans. 

Sansa’s moans. 

There, on top of a wooden bench, by the lake, far from the castle walls, and with no one else in sight--laid her ever proper lady sister.   
Her almost immaculate gray dress was pulled down to expose her breasts, her chest heaving wildly. The hem was pooled on her stomach and her long, slender legs were settled on Joffrey’s shoulders as his head rested on her private parts. 

In a shock, Arya bit her fisted palm that gripped one of her arrows to avoid making noise. 

What is he doing? 

Is he hurting her? 

“My Prince, my Prince, yes my Prince...” Sansa moaned. 

Yes, my Prince?  
  
So he’s not hurting her? 

Arya stood frozen in place, watching as Sansa lifted her hips to meet Joffrey’s tongue as he lifted from her. 

“Quiet now, Princess. Lest you want The Hound to come around and watch. Now spread that wet cunt for your prince, Lady Stark.” 

Arya didn’t understand why her eyes remained open. A sickening but curious pit formed in her stomach but she couldn’t stop watching. 

Is this kissing?   
Gods, No wonder she hears all sorts of songs. 

Arya was so mesmerized that when a gloved hand covered her mouth and pulled her up from behind the tree, she didn’t react fast enough to get away. 

**Arya VII: Of My Own Choosing**

Jaime Lannister was able to take her at a safe distance from the scene before he turned her around to face him. He placed a finger on his full red lips to signal her silence and waited for her to nod before he removed his hand from her mouth. 

Arya’s eyes stared up at him guiltily--but why? She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, besides sneaking out from the castle--but she’s never been caught before, that’s probably why.   
  
His eyes were unreadable as he studied her. Arya hasn’t seen him since--well, since the night she acquired her glorious strut. And now that he stood in front of her, that victory seemed to be diminishing fast. She suddenly felt so small, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. 

“Curious little cat are you?” he muttered softly, standing tall above her. “You shouldn’t be here.”   
  
Arya said nothing, gripped her bow tightly and paid close attention to her feet. 

“It’s best that I head you back towards the castle…”   
  
Arya frowned. “I know my way back, this is our field. I was out here trying to hunt.” 

Jaime raised a brow. “The Prince? My lady, it probably didn’t occur to you, but The Hound was nearby, making himself scarce per Joffrey’s request. If he had spotted you--” 

“What could he do to me, hmm?” Arya asked bravely, still disturbed by what she saw. “No, I wasn’t hunting the Prince--my brothers have gone with the King to hunt for big game so I thought I’d go by myself this afternoon. And do not call me that.” 

“You’ve seen The Hound, haven’t you? You’re not afraid of him?” 

“What’s there to be afraid of? I’ve been around men all my life--” 

“All fourteen years? Impressive!” Jaime interrupted sarcastically. 

  
“Don’t be condescending. I speak of my brothers, I speak of my uncles, my friends, and our men. I speak of the North. I’ve also spoken to The Hound and seen him spar. He always seems to be angry and uncaring, but he’s nothing to be afraid of.” she replied smugly. 

“Then what are you afraid of?” 

‘You.’

Arya swallowed, shaking the thought off her head. “Not afraid--slightly disgusted.” she turned her head towards the area that they’ve just left, hoping to distract him and herself from the first answer that plopped into her head. She would not have been able to explain why, anyway. 

Luckily, Jaime seemed to be convinced. “That.” he started. “Is something you should not have seen.”   
  
Arya nodded. “When Sansa said that she’s been kissing, I thought--”   
  
Jaime guffawed. “Kissing?” 

Arya felt her face redden. “That’s not what I thought--kissing was.” 

Jaime leaned back against a tree and sighed as he studied her, seemingly unsure of how to proceed with the conversation.   
  
“Lady Arya…”   
  
She scowled.   
  
“Commander Stark.” he firmed. “You’re correct in your assumption--that’s not what ‘kissing,’ is. That subject is an entirely different--it’s not the same as.... Kissing is a lot simpler.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. 

Kissing is simple. 

It was. 

“It’s perfectly natural for you to be curious about it--but what you’ve seen…”   
  
“I’m already trying to forget it.” Arya interrupted and turned on her heel to leave. “It’ll be fun to hold this over Sansa’s head for a while--maybe after I throw up...”   
  
A gentle hand halted her shoulder, and a soft chill ran down her spine. 

“The Prince and your sister--they’re betrothed. Some liberties are--”   
  
“You’re afraid that I would tell on them?” Arya chuckled. “Where’s the fun in all of that?” 

Jaime laughed in return. “Clever girl.” 

Arya smiled up at him, her heart full. 

He stilled, gaze locked on to hers. “There it is.” 

And so she blushed when she realized that he meant her smile.

She reddened again--painfully.

“Promise me something.” he muttered softly.

“Another thing?” Arya complained. “What weapon do you have for me this time?” 

Jaime laughed before taking a knee to meet her eye to eye. “None, as I didn’t think I would encounter you back here. Now listen.”   
  
Arya bit her lip as he looked at her intently. 

“I understand that you’re curious--but, promise me that the next lips you’d kiss would only be your betrothed.” 

Arya’s heart stopped.   
  


Next. 

He said ‘next.’

Gods, I am an idiot. 

Arya broke her gaze to look at the floor and nodded before turning her heel again. 

He gently nudged her elbow. 

“On your honor as a future knight of the realm?” he proposed. 

Arya’s eyes widened, her heart bursting--even if deep down she knew the words to be false, it gave her much hope, much needed recognition. 

She nodded again. 

“Say it.” he commanded. 

“Words are wind…” she reasoned. 

“Swear it anyway.” 

Arya swallowed again before she met his eyes. “On my honor as a Stark, the next person I will ever kiss would be my--” 

‘Betrothed’ seemed like a disgusting word at the moment as she associated it with the prissy-faced Prince. 

“Ser Arya? Commander?” Jaime chided. “Go on…” 

“On my honor as a Stark, the next and only person I will ever truly kiss would be a man of my choosing--if such a time and person would ever come.” 


	2. Chapter II: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place two years after the events of Chapter 1.

**Tywin & Cersei**

“What do you suggest we do, father?” Cersei spat, resigned and out of her wits. “We are at an impasse--the North has the armies, and Highgarden has the money.”    
  
“Which is precisely why you should’ve done a better job at containing your son, don’t you think?” Tywin responded. 

Cersei took another sip of her wine. “You can keep faulting me--as it is your favorite hobby. But it doesn’t solve our problem. Margaery carries Joffrey’s heir--and Sansa Stark is en route as we speak to honor the marriage contract. If we slight the Tyrells, we lose their support…”    
  
“You’ve been nothing but a disappointment these last few months, child. Have I taught you nothing about this wretched game? I have already arranged the solution for this mess, I just wanted to emphasize that all this could’ve been avoided--had you fulfilled your duties as the mother of the future king.” Tywin firmed. 

Cersei filled herself another glass. “And has my husband, The King--heard of your ‘solution?’

“Heard of it? He would’ve suggested the blasted thing itself if he had enough brains left in his fat head.” Tywin sneered. “He and I have made the arrangements this morning, Your Grace.”

Cersei narrowed her brows, her heart beating fast. “And what are the terms of this genius solution? How much are we out?” 

Tywin paused to collect another drink. “Out? You mean to count our losses? When you have nothing but guaranteed our doom? Must I remind you of Jaime’s report about the Targaryen threat in the East? Had I not intervened, our fates would’ve been one with the ashes.” 

“And you trust Jaime’s report? Gone a year with reports of beasts known to be long dead--”    


“You think your brother--a believer of happy endings, and the disposition of a green boy would concoct a tale of legendary dragons? The threat from Essos is quite real, Cersei, and you would be insipid to be indifferent to it. The Targaryen girl is successfully building her army, with three growing dragons at her disposal--and she will come after the throne that we have won with the Fire and Blood that runs through her veins. I’m beginning to think that the crown that you wield has rather depleted any wisdom left in your head. We must solidly unite the seven kingdoms if we have any chance of succeeding against her.” Tywin explained calmly. “And we will--only with my interference.” 

Cersei’s lips flattened, rage visible on the sides of her jaw. “And--will you tell me of your solution? Or have I been deposed? Should I be addressing you as ‘Your Grace’ now?” 

Tywin raised an eyebrow. “From my position--I undoubtedly have more hold over this country than the sovereigns of The Red Keep.” he confidently declared. “I have no desire for your titles. Your heads will always be the first hunted, for the rest of your lives. You are quite fortunate that it is in my best interest--that despite your blatant idiocracy, carelessness, and lack of tact, that I desire to keep you and my grandchildren alive.” 

Cersei resigned then, though still fuming. 

“Joffrey will marry Margaery Tyrell. The Queen of Thorns has played her hand quite well in this, she will forever have my compliments. Eddard Stark will be presented with a new contract upon their arrival--one that they cannot refuse.” 

“You mean to bethrothe her to my Tommen? He is not even eleven name days… I would’ve suggested Myrcella for his eldest, but she is promised to Dorne.” 

“Try to think before you speak, Your Grace. It will serve you well.” Tywin scoffed. “Eddard Stark will be named Hand of the King and his daughter will be made the Lady of our own seat by marriage. I wish we could wait till Tommen comes of age, but we need to secure our alliances now.” 

Cersei’s brows arched up. “And what of Jon Arryn?” 

“He will be given an early retirement and has been compensated generously for his services.” 

“I’m quite impressed about your faith in the threat that the Targaryen girl poses, father.” Cersei muttered. “To acknowledge Tyrion as the Lord of Casterly Rock and trust our home to a Stark--now I must resign and share this with you.” 

To Cersei’s surprise--her father laughed heartily. 

“You think that we could secure the North’s loyalty by insulting Eddard Stark? You think that my brilliant solution to your mess is to propose the imp? I wouldn’t find The Red Keep desirable if it were attached to a dwarf, Cersei, use your brain for once in this conversation.” 

Cersei’s heart began to race from her chest. “You can’t mean--you can’t…” 

“As of this morning, Jaime has been released from The Kingsguard and has been named my heir with The King’s consent.” 

“Jaime would NEVER--” Cersei shrieked. 

“He already consented to his part in the contract, Your Grace.” Tywin mocked nonchalantly. 

“What? I don’t believe it!” Cersei exclaimed. “I shall hear it from his own lips before I believe a word of this ridiculous--”    
  
“Ask him yourself.” Tywin challenged. 

“As soon as he returns…”

Tywin laughed. “Your Grace--haven’t you been informed? Or have you been too preoccupied about matters which you haven’t addressed? Your brother has been back for the last two weeks. I’m truly surprised he hasn’t come to see you. Robert, Jaime and I conferred on this arrangement this morning.” 

**Arya**

The stench.   
  
The stench was absolutely disgusting. 

Shortly after they were formally welcomed in The Red Keep, Arya conspired with her new young Septa to sneak her out of the grounds. Fortunately, The King immediately requested a private audience with her father and her family settled themselves inside their assigned quarters in the first tower. 

_ “Absolutely not! We don’t know these grounds, Lady Arya--”  _ _   
_ _ “Do not call me that!”  _ _   
_ _ “No, no, no! I forbid it! The minute you disappear I will alert Lady Stark…”  _ _   
_ _ “And I will tell her what I saw you and Theon doing in the kitchen--” _

_ Septa Galayne’s soft hand flew on top of her small pouty lips. “My lady!”  _ _   
_ _ “You will come with me! I just need to find a smith! I already know where to go! We won’t be in King’s Landing for very long, and this work cannot be done back in Winterfell, lest Father will disprove.” _

Before Jon left for the Wall, he gifted Arya her own sword, which she lovingly named ‘Needle.’ She wanted to honor her bond with Jon with a subtle detail on the hilt, by adding Nymeria’s eye stone and Ghost’s. She didn’t trust Mikken enough to not tell on her, so she planned to have this done in King’s Landing, where she would order the work under disguise. 

She donned one of her old brown hooded cloaks and Bran’s old pants and tunic. She knew that she would find a smith in the market square, per the advice of a boy she met at the Inn they passed on the journey, Micah. 

She instructed her Septa to wait by the entrance of the square, which was overcrowded and busy. Septa Galayne was hesitant. 

“I don’t know about this, My Lady--” she mumbled. “If I lose you--”  
  
“You won’t lose me.” Arya insisted. “I can be dressed in a potato sack, but if I walk into a smithy with a Septa, I’ll be found out and my mother will have both our throats then. I’m confident that King’s Landing has been informed of the arrival of their precious future Queen and her family, and I don’t want to raise suspicion about a Stark being here or the existence of Needle.”

“I’ll be in and out--no more than ten minutes. I have enough gold for the work that I’m ordering, I don’t need to barter. Look, I can see the shop from here! Just don’t talk to anyone and I will be right back--we’ll sneak back in the way we came out.” 

Arya footed her way through the crowd before her Septa could protest and summoned all her courage to approach the local Smithy. Though she’s never been hesitant to approach strangers and make friends, Arya has never been away from the North before and the crowd of King’s Landing seemed slightly different. She didn’t like it. 

“Can I help you, My lady?” A tall, stocky boy--or man with short raven colored hair asked from behind the workstation as she entered. 

Arya scrunched her nose. ‘My lady?’ How was she discovered so fast? 

“I’m not a lady.” she answered quickly. 

“Apologies, then.” he answered. “Something you need?”

Arya briefly described the work she needed to be done and provided both stones to be embedded on the hilt. 

“That’s simple enough. Skinny little thing, eh?” the boy noted. 

Arya scowled. “Is it common for southrons to make comments about a girl’s body?”    
  
“As much as ridiculous assumptions are for northerners, My Lady.” the boy retorted.   
  
“I am not a lady!” Arya exclaimed. 

“Sure--and I was talking about your sword. Wouldn’t be caught on the chopping block if I even dared to look your way, my lady.” The boy muttered, this time teasingly. “Name’s Gendry. The work will be done by tomorrow, if it pleases you--”    


“And my name is Ar--Arry.” Arya choked. How could she have not thought of a name before she went on this venture? “Arry Waters, and I am not a lady, definitely not of the North either.” The last lie made her stomach turn. “How much do I owe you?” 

At that Gendry laughed heartily. “Not of the North, eh? Well, you’re definitely not from King’s Landing. It’s uncommon for locals to offer payment before any work is done, surely not for something as simple as this one.”    


Arya fisted her palms and her cheeks burned bright red. 

Somehow, Gendry’s smug features softened. 

“If you wanted to keep whatever disguise this is going--I thought you should know, my lady--or should I say--Arry?” 

Resigned, Arya turned on her heel and started walking out of the shop. “I’ll be here tomorrow.” 

“Oh, and Arry? You might want to turn your cloak inside out.” Gendry called before collecting Needle and heading to the back of the shop where the forge was. 

Puzzled, Arya took off her cloak and studied it--only to find the Stark Direwolf Sigil embedded on the lower seams. 

Arya sighed as she turned the cloak inside out to show the messy insides out.

She was an idiot. 

**Arya II**

True to her word, Arya was in and out of the shop in under ten minutes. 

Apparently disobedient to instructions, Septa Galayne was nowhere near the entrance where she left her. 

‘Shit.’ Arya thought. ‘I can’t just go back without her! She won’t know her way in!’ 

Arya fiddled with her belt to ensure that one of the simple daggers she took from home was still intact and tried to find her companion in the crowd with no success. 

‘Shit!’ she thought as she found a crate to stand atop on. ‘Where did you go?’

“Lost?” a familiar voice called from behind her.

Arya’s heart stopped.

Arya’s usual first instinct when caught by surprise is to reach for a nearby weapon, if not an option, she would resign to the basic fighting stance that she was secretly taught by Theon. 

But that voice--that deep, familiar, strong voice--called for something different. 

Without turning around to face him, Arya bit her lip and struggled to keep her voice from breaking. 

“No.” she answered. 

Jaime tut-tutted. “Looking for someone then?” 

“No.” 

Jaime chuckled. “No, huh?” 

“No.” Arya answered for the last time before stepping down from the crate to flee. 

But his hand was too fast. 

“Don’t--” 

“Let me go!” Arya hissed. 

At the same time, men in gold cloaks emerged out of nowhere, causing everyone in the market to flee in panic. 

The men’s voices were low, cruel and daunting. Vendors that had their goods laid out on the floor hastily gathered their products while the cloaked men demanded that they show their permits for selling. 

Before she could immerse herself in the scene further, Arya found herself carried by Jaime from the waist and away from the market.

“Come with me if you don’t want to be discovered.” he commanded in a low tone. 

Uncharacteristically, Arya obeyed. Without ever seeing his face, she held onto his strong palm after he placed the hood atop her head and led her farther away from the horrific scene.

They didn’t walk too far--but it was far enough for any more noise or people, and definitely not in the way of the castle. Somehow they ended up on the outskirts of the city, and into a wooded area, inside the ruins of a seemingly abandoned watch tower. 

Arya was breathless by the time Jaime let go of her hand. Still unwilling to meet his eyes, she kept her head down and leaned against a torn stone wall.

“You’re fortunate to have left while your parents were--occupied with The King, Lady Arya.” Jaime’s voice was firm. “I had your Septa escorted back by one of my men. I instructed her to remain in the kitchens before I sneak you back in.” 

Arya gulped, her gaze remained on the barely grassed covered earth floor. “How did you--”    
  
Jaime chuckled. “I know the castle grounds particularly well, you know. Every secret passage, entrance, escape tunnel routes--”    
  
Arya looked up then, excitedly. “Escape tunnel routes? The one under the dragon mine? They’re real? They still exist from the time of the dragons?” 

Upon meeting his eyes, Arya’s heart clenched again. 

**Jaime**

An unexplainable feeling washed over Jaime when the little girl’s eyes finally came up to meet his own. 

Upon conferring with his own father and The King earlier that morning--Jaime’s was resigned to his fate. Something like this was going to happen eventually. Tywin was never going to proclaim Tyrion as the heir of Casterly Rock, and he always knew that his father would find a way to either declare Tommen as his chosen heir when he comes of age, OR he would cleverly maneuver Jaime out of his duty to the Kingsguard and instill him in his rightful position.

And because of Joffrey’s careless mischief, it became the latter. 

Jaime has always been resigned to the position of a pawn--not even a knight in this stupid game. He was his father’s pawn, he was Cersei’s pawn. He moved in accordance to what was best for the family. 

For Cersei, he did everything for the pure love and affection he’s felt for her since the beginning of his memories. He never thought that their bond was wrong, blinded by her seemingly devoted love for him as well. 

Jaime remembered accepting her own cruel fate wholeheartedly, without any hesitation, as long as her heart remained his. He told himself that she had to lay with Robert for duty, and his confidence remained in the fact that she bore him no children--only his. Even if he never got to raise them as his own--he at least got to be around them. 

But when he left for Essos to study the threat himself, as dictated by his own duty to the realm, news of Cersei taking their cousin Lancel for her own lover reminded him of his position. In his continued journey he allowed himself to wonder whether or not she still loved him--after all, Jaime couldn’t imagine himself with another woman besides her--she was all he cared to know. 

Jaime then discovered that the scarier thought was to wonder if he still loved her. 

Or did he cling on to her because she was all he allowed himself to know? 

It didn’t change the fact that he was a pawn. 

Until--

Until Arya Stark’s eyes finally flew up to meet his. 

What was this feeling? He seriously couldn’t comprehend it. 

It was like a feeling of promise. 

A feeling of renewal. 

A feeling of hope. 

A feeling of innocence. 

It was an odd combination of all of them. 

And it was glorious. 

Jaime’s insides instantly felt empowered, jovial, and youthful. 

He didn’t know how to describe how her widened, excited, womanly gaze made him feel. 

But he knew that he liked it. 

“What happened to your hair?” Arya asked. 

Jaime must’ve studied her gaze a moment too long, for Arya started to nervously fiddle with her cloak. 

“I had to remain in disguise across the sea--in Essos, so I had to darken it.” Jaime’s hair was still long, but it was colored in a dark brown shade. “Do you not like it?” 

Arya’s nose scrunched, she seemed to be fighting a smile. “It’s just--not the way I remember it.”

Jaime laughed. “You’re exactly how I remember you.”

He lied.

When he parted ways with her two years past, he left behind a clever, curious, mischievous, little girl. 

But within seconds of being alone with her, Jaime recognized that Arya had grown into a young woman. 

The wisdom, mischief and curiosity all remained in her eyes and tone of voice--yes, and she was still significantly little--but there was no mistaking that she had definitely grown. 

“Why did you go across the sea?” she asked further.

“Why did you go into the smithy with a poorly hidden weapon?” 

Arya bit her lip and looked down. “Ser Jaime--please don’t… I wouldn’t be able to bear it if…”

Jaime found himself moving towards her, and his forefinger gently lifted her chin so he could meet her steely gray eyes again. 

“Tell me.” he whispered. 

Jaime had always known of Arya’s affinity for Ned Stark’s bastard son. Of course he would give her a weapon before they parted, and of course she would be devoted to his precious farewell present, enough to risk getting into serious trouble just to add more sentiment to it. Somehow, after her tale, Jaime found himself relieved that the boy had gone to the Wall. 

He couldn’t understand why.

“I won’t tell anyone--” Jaime started. 

When Arya smiled up at him--that same smile that made him feel so greatly two years ago, Jaime almost didn’t want to continue his sentence--but he definitely had to. 

“Under two conditions.” 

To his relief, the smile remained in her eyes when she nodded. 

“First, you will not leave The Keep again without the express permission of your parents--or myself, if you’re so determined.” 

At the addition of the word ‘or,’ she seemed to fight a smile again. 

Jaime’s heart clenched. 

“I will collect your sword from the smith tomorrow and give it to you in the private Kingsguard barracks after everyone has dined tomorrow evening. Ser Mikhail, one of my men, will make sure to see you in. You may take Septa Galayne with you and tell everyone that you wanted to walk around the castle--so you won’t be suspected.” 

Arya nodded again. 

“The second condition is--that you have one of my men, likely Ser Podrick, show you the basics of this sword--”    


“Needle.” Arya spoke up. “And I know how to use a sword…”   
  
“From what you described, ‘Needle’ is no longer a dull toy to play with, Lady Stark.”    
  
Arya scowled. 

Jaime laughed. “You need to learn how to use it appropriately… He will show you the basics, and hopefully, your father will eventually allow you to receive formal training…”   
  
“How come you can’t train me?”

Jaime’s heart stilled at her question. 

“Me?” he asked innocently. 

He must’ve said the word weirdly, for he was confident that Arya’s cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. 

“Right--no, you’re busy. It’s alright--no, fine. Your conditions, done.” she blabbered. 

Jaime’s brows narrowed. “I would love to train you--it’ll probably be easier with your father’s express permission, of course…” 

“It’s alright, please forget I said anything! Helping me today--it’s enough… I’m sorry…”   
  
“Don’t mistake me--I would love to--you know what? To the seven hells with it, I will train you tomorrow evening.”   
  
Just like that--Arya smiled again. 

“Really?” 

Jaime couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes.” 

“We could find training times while we’re here at The Keep, Ser Jaime!” Arya exclaimed. “Once Prince Joffrey and Sansa are wed, I’m certain that my mother will insist upon my staying here for a while. I suppose I can agree with her this time around, she will be so relieved!” 

And just like that, Jaime’s insides dimmed. 

He remembered the agreement that he so resignedly consented to this morning. 

Suddenly, seeing Arya smile up at him made him more sullen. 

He still couldn’t explain why.

“Ser Jaime?” Arya asked curiously. 

“Let’s head back to the Keep.” he proposed after he placed the hood back atop her head. 

**Jaime II**

Jaime was relieved upon being informed that his betrothal to Sansa wasn’t going to be announced until after Joffrey’s own. The council argued that the sudden change of bride was shocking enough to both the subjects and nobles of the realm, adding the news of Jaime’s release from the Kingsguard in order to wed Joffrey’s slighted bride would be too many changes to absorb all at once. 

It had been a week since the Starks arrived. Upon learning about his return, Cersei has sent for him three times in her private solar, and he has dismissed all of her summons. 

When she finally visited his new quarters in the Kingsguard barracks (he abandoned his assigned quarters as The Captain upon his return from Braavos) he reaffirmed that his loving relationship with his sister was at an end, for good. 

_ “You will wed her for duty, Jaime, but you belong to me.” she argued. “Just like I had to wed Robert--but my heart, and my soul, and my body…”  _

_ “Somehow belongs to half of my men? Including our cousin?” he answered angrily.  _

_ Cersei was seemingly more shocked by his tone of voice rather than his accusation. “Jaime…”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I am ending us not because of the duty that somehow fell upon my shoulders, but because after being apart from you--my seemingly fluffy brain seemed to realize two significant truths. One; that I have allowed myself to love no one but yourself. I have never thought of attaching myself to another woman because I knew that I had you to come home to--”  _

_ “I never attached myself to any of--” _

_ “And two; that I could have mistaken love for fear--fear of a life without you. Fear of you not having my heart and my loyalty in your selfish hands. Fear of the unknown.”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Cersei’s lips thinned, her face remained determined. “And you don’t think that you fear the unknown?”  _

_ Steely gray eyes flashed across his own eyes when he took a moment to respond. Gray eyes that were curious rather than afraid about the unknown, who seemed to think that challenging boundaries and thrilling escapades were adventurous. Gray eyes that were full of life and hope.  _

_ “Not anymore.” he answered firmly as he opened the door to the hallway. “We are at an end. I wish you a good night, Your Grace.”  _

_ Cersei followed his footsteps, her eyes narrowed, her jaw was clenched. “This is not over.” she promised before she exited his room.  _

_ Jaime didn’t realize it immediately, but that was likely the first time in his life that he didn’t consciously watch Cersei as she walked away. Instead, he closed the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.  _

_ He knew then, that it was over for him. _

So far since the hasty week began, he has hosted Arya and Septa Galayne twice at the private Kingsguard Barracks a good distance away from the main keep. 

She insisted upon training immediately after Jaime retrieved her sword from the smithy, much to Jaime’s delight. Arya was indeed a fast learner, a natural with the weapon, and she immediately got bored with the basics.

Luckily, he had to keep their lessons as short as possible anyway, in order not to arouse any suspicion for her part. By their second meeting, he only parried her attacks, constantly reminding her that her sword only pokes, it doesn’t slice. Arya had to rely on her stamina and speed in order to deliver a serious hit. 

_ “You won’t teach me how to flank someone?” Arya asked after he yielded.    
  
Jaime scoffed. “No! I told you, you must ask your father for formal instructions. I only wanted to make sure that I covered the basics. Jon should never have given you something that he couldn’t teach you how to use--that sword, skinny and little as it is, is not a toy.”  _

_ Arya smirked then, a proud look on her expression. “Jon trusts me, Ser Jaime. He knows that I can wield Needle rightfully.”  _

_ Jaime conceded with a nod. He was not going to talk to her about her brother. He didn’t need any more reminders of her steadfast devotion to him. _

_ “Can we continue to sword fight until you have to leave?” Arya asked as she stowed Needle inside the brown sheathe that Jaime assigned for her in his private locker. Arya agreed that she shouldn’t walk around the castle with her weapon, nor should she store it in her room where her mother could discover it.  _

_ “What makes you think that I was leaving?” Jaime answered, his eyebrows met.  _

_ Arya’s eyes widened again. “Uh--” _

_ Jaime’s jaw clenched at the realization. “You know.”  _

_ Arya bit her lip and nodded.  _

_ “What do you know?” Jaime asked, not able to understand why his heart started pounding erratically.  _

_ “Enough.” she answered shortly, a small smile upon her lips.  _

_ A forced one.  _

_ A false one.  _

_ “Arya…”    
  
Arya turned away from him and uselessly untied the laces on her boots to tie them up again, somehow he thought that she suddenly wanted to avoid his gaze.   
  
“I know that because Sansa will not be able to marry Joffrey--that she was then promised to be--your…” her breath hitched at the last word, as if it were vile.  _

_ “Your lady--the Lady of Casterly Rock.” she coughed. “I know that I’m not supposed to know but Sansa has been crying about it for two days! And all she knows is that she won’t be Queen!” Arya chuckled softly then. “Mother and Father haven’t gotten the chance to tell her that she is now promised to you.” _

_ “So--how did you find out?”  _

_ Arya shrugged. “Word travels quickly around the Keep, Ser Jaime. Some use birds, I just tend to overhear everything and know the right people, who seem to know the right people.” her eyes traveled to where her Septa sat, patiently waiting at the door with the guard Mikhail. “I hope you won’t punish her for…”    
  
Jaime scoffed. “Of course not.”   
  
Arya turned to meet his eyes.  _

_ “I will not.” he promised, and ran his hand on his hair. _

_ “The real color of your hair--it’s coming out!” Arya noted gently.  _

_ Jaime nodded. “Yes--if I don’t put the powder on, it comes back after a while. Since I’m no longer in disguise, I suppose I could pass on the process.”  _

_ Arya nodded.    
  
“And--hopefully, I’ll be as you remember me again.” Jaime muttered under his breath.  _

_ He didn’t know why he added that last line--it just seemed truthful.  _

_ “Always.” she answered after a moment. _

_ Jaime’s heart clenched.  _

_ “Sansa’s very fortunate, you know. You both are.”  _

_ Jaime wanted to believe that he heard a bit of sorrow in her voice.  _

_ “You think so?”  _

_ Arya nodded and she slowly walked toward the entrance.    
  
“While Sansa has always wanted to be Queen, and she’ll be stupidly devastated over losing that title for a while--I know that just like my mother, she’ll make a perfect Lady for your Casterly Rock, just like my mother is for Winterfell.”    
_

_ “And how is she fortunate, then?” Jaime prodded.  _

_ “She’ll be wed to the most skillful knight that I’ve ever seen in my life. And one of the kindest, as well.”  _

_ Jaime’s heart swelled.  _

_ But he still wanted to believe that there was some sort of sadness in her tone.  _

_ He seeked her eyes for a brief moment and she looked back at him.  _

_ He hoped that the glimmer of sadness in her gaze was true, and not something that his ambitious imagination willed.  _

_ “Don’t flatter yourself too much, I haven’t met many swordsmen. Oh! And I of course didn’t include any of my brothers.” she teased forcefully.  _

_ “You could--you could stay with us at The Rock, you know? I’m sure--your sister would be at ease with your presence...” Jaime proposed.  _

_ Idiot! What are you doing?  _

_ And now he’s done it. _

_ Arya’s lower lip slightly quivered and she looked down, and he was certain that she was sad.  _

_ “Arya?” Jaime asked, but she kept walking. _

_ Jaime gently held her elbow and turned her around to face him. _

_ Like the week prior, he used his forefinger to lift her chin to meet his eyes, and now he was only all too conscious of the feel of her skin against his own.  _

_ “Tell me.” Jaime asked.    
  
“I can’t--I’m not supposed to know.” Arya answered hesitantly.    
  
“Know what?” Jaime insisted, now a bit worried. “Tell me.”  _

_ “I can’t go with you--to the Rock…” Arya answered.    
  
“What were you not supposed to know?”  _

_ “I can’t go with you--because…” Arya sighed in frustration, and now her eyes are glossed over.  _

_ Oh Seven Hells.  _

_ Arya Stark seemed to have awakened another feeling in Jaime upon seeing her moistened eyes.  _

_ He couldn’t really describe it in a word--but he just felt like drawing his sword and beheading whoever caused the woman in front of him to cry.  _

_ With his jaw clenched, he painfully tried to be gentle in his question. “Arya? Tell me. It’s alright.”    
  
“The plan was to return North after Mother is confident that Sansa is settled here. But now that the plans have changed--and Father will remain here as The Hand--I overheard…”  _

_ “Go on, Arya.”    
  
“After Sansa is wed, Mother and I will return North--and she and Robb will work on my own marriage contract with Elmar Frey.”  _

Jaime didn’t remember the rest of the evening after that. He vaguely remembered Arya saying that she had met the boy several times as a child, and he seemed quite simple, and he would probably do anything she asked him to do, so maybe she was fortunate in her own way. After all, she never wanted to be a the Lady of a major house--though she hated the fact that she had to be a wife. Somehow, she overheard her father saying that winter was coming, and he wanted to make sure that most of his children remained up North as much as possible. 

He remembered Arya saying that she was only sad because she finally realized that the part of her birthright that she feared had finally arrived, and she hated that her destiny was written and she had no choice about the matter. 

When Arya left with her Septa that evening, Jaime drew his greatsword and hit a straw dummy until all that was left were shreds. Mikhail seemed too intimidated to intervene. He spent the night pacing across his room, sitting on the balcony, trying to assess why rage has come over him suddenly--not allowing himself to see the root of his anger. 

The root of all of his emotions. 

And by the time the sun crept up inside his room, he did. 

Jaime now found himself standing outside a significant door. The last barrier between him and actually playing the damned game for the first time as an aggressive player. 

While Jaime has always been a masterful battle commandant, a notable warrior, and the best Captain of the Kingsguard that the realm has ever had, he was never a player of the game. 

He was a pawn. 

Though he slayed a King by his own convictions and earned his infamous moniker that way, he only gathered the will to carry through because his family had finally sided with the rebellion.

He was still, at his most notoriously defining moment, a pawn. 

Not today. 

Jaime took a breath and knocked confidently. 

“Jaime Lannister,” he announced himself to the servant who opened the door for the special guest tower of the Keep. “I’m here to see Lady Olenna.” 

**Eddard**

Eddard wanted nothing more than to return North with ALL of his children. The South reminded him of too much loss, and nothing could beat the safe haven that Winterfell offered. Though he wasn’t as close to Sansa, for the girl still nurtured fantasies of fairy tales, she was his daughter all the same and he wanted the best for her, even if that meant that she lived her dream down South. 

Upon being told about the necessity of breaking the marriage pact, and most importantly the looming threat from the East, Eddard realized that winter was coming, and he needed to act immediately. 

He was all but enraged at the preposition to betroth Sansa to the most notorious Lannister, he almost refused and started a battle with his own good friend, the King. But after careful deliberation he figured that the farther Sansa is from King’s Landing, where the Dragon Queen would attack first, the better. The girl really ever wanted to be a Lady of her own castle, anyway.

He made plans to ensure that his youngest daughter, his favorite child, Arya would return North safely to her brothers. Catelyn promised to delay conversations about formalizing the marriage contract that Walder Frey proposed until Arya is reacquainted with the boy again, to ease her, and that Ned would be consulted even if he remained in the Red Keep.

But somehow, this morning--the tone changed again. 

The Royal Family was going to host a ball that evening to announce Joffrey’s engagement to Margaery Tyrell. His family was already prepped to be supportive of the betrothal, even encouraging the news. And in the following week, another ball would be held to announce Jaime’s release from the Kingsguard and betrothal to Sansa.

And then the King unexpectedly summoned him to a private breakfast with Lady Olenna Tyrell. 

Robert had a serious look on his face, uneasy, still jovial, slightly drunk--but uneasy. 

“Your daughter still doesn’t know about her engagement, I take it?” Robert asked. 

Eddard nodded. “Cat wanted to give her time to absorb--”    
  
“That is actually well placed.” Robert interrupted. 

They both turned to the door when Lady Olenna entered. 

“We will summon our respective families later, but there are some changes we need to discuss.” 

**Catelyn & Eddard**

Catelyn nervously guided her daughters inside the grand breakfast hall and nervously seeked her husband’s eyes. They discussed their family’s predicament at length and they were barely starting to make peace with it when Ned was summoned for an urgent private meeting. 

She was uncomfortable about the fact that her and Ned wouldn’t have time to convene before they joined the party, with all the main Lannisters minus the imp who remained at Casterly Rock, and the Tyrells, Lady Olenna and her grandchildren. 

Sansa’s eyes were gloomy when they entered, but she was her mother’s daughter--a polite smile covered her expression. Arya was of course, a bit more difficult to place in a dress that was deemed appropriate for the occasion, but though the girl didn’t have polished manners, she was seemingly behaved today. 

Ned’s eyes met hers and they were resigned. 

Catelyn got more nervous as they took their seats. 

Sansa was courteous enough to offer her greetings to both Joffrey and Margaery who seemed satisfied at the far end of the grand table with the Tyrell family--Catelyn and her daughters were assigned seats next to Ned, across from Tywin Lannister and the rest of his brood, including The Kingslayer at the end of the table. 

First they discussed the announcement of Joffrey and Margaery’s engagement later that evening, at the ball--and everyone offered their well wishes. They discussed the announcement of Ned’s installation as the Hand of the King, for which everyone congratulated him for as well. 

“And tomorrow morning--a second engagement will be announced…” 

Catelyn’s eyes flew up to meet Ned’s--she was horrified! They haven’t discussed the subject with Sansa just yet. They agreed that they would tell her of her betrothal after the ball, for it was too cruel to give her so much news all at once.

Ned held her hand inside his shoulders to comfort her. It was the better news after all. He couldn’t quite understand why The Queen of Thorns had insisted upon making the announcements immediately, but because they offered thrice the dowry that was entailed, he relented. It was inevitable, anyway. 

Ned then seeked Sansa’s face as Robert continued to speak, resigned but nonetheless anxious for her reaction.

“For a proposal has been made and accepted just this morning, by the Lord Willas Tyrell of Highgarden, to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” 

Several reactions at the table were noteworthy. 

Sansa was immediately aghast, but then seeked her betrothed's glance across the table.   
  
She smiled almost immediately after. 

Catelyn sighed. Her daughter found him ‘handsome’, like a knight in song. Her fears were quelled for a bit. This was one of the rare occasions where she was grateful that her eldest daughter was idealistically ignorant at times. 

Joffrey seemed a bit perturbed, but a soft hand from Margaery calmed him instantly. 

“I’ve always wanted a sister.” Margaery declared. “You will absolutely love Highgarden, Lady Sansa.” 

Sansa smiled, unlike her polite smile from earlier in the morning, this one was genuine. She returned her courtesies and raised her glass.

Ned’s attention was suddenly caught by Arya’s sudden interest in the conversation. 

His youngest daughter seemed to stop eating the food from her plate, and her thinly sliced pork pieces remained untouched as her small fork lay beside the silver charger.

“Congratulations are in order!” Robert roared and the rest of the table cheered. “To our houses!” 

“Long live the King!” Lady Olenna echoed.

Now both Catelyn and Ned noticed that Arya was too interested in the conversation and started to worry her lower lip. Catelyn moved to get her attention when Tywin Lannister coughed from across them.

“Your Grace--there is still the matter of--” Tywin Lannister started.   
  
“Ah! Yes. This evening, we will also announce that Ser Jaime Lannister, my good brother who has served as the Captain of the Kingsguard for many years--is hereby released from his duties to the realm to serve as the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock.” Robert declared. 

The Queen, who seemed to be invested in her cups more than The King this morning, scoffed. “There is no more need to relieve him of his duties now---”    
  
Robert threw her a sideways glance before he bellowed, “To Ser Jaime!” 

The rest of the table besides Cersei and notably Arya, echoed. 

“The purpose of his release no longer exists, my love--why are you still--” Cersei insisted.   
  
“Your Grace.” Tywin warned. “It is not the time to discuss such matters--” 

“I am grateful for your generosity--Your Grace.” Jaime Lannister’s deep husky voice declared to Robert from the end of the table. “Casterly Rock--as it has been, is yours.” 

Robert nodded and raised his glass to Jaime, but Cersei could not be contained.   
  
“You no longer have to be wed, why are you--” Cersei seethed.

“Take her.” Robert commanded with a stern look to Tywin, who seemed uncharacteristically too happy to comply. “She’s not well.”    


In the ruckus of Tywin attempting to lead Cersei away, everyone’s attention was turned to the scene, except for Ned. 

And apparently, his favorite daughter and Jaime Lannister.    
  
They were looking at each other, as if communicating with their eyes.

He only ever saw Jon and Arya communicating this way. 

The Kingslayer had the look of determination on his face. His jaw was locked, hand firm on the glass that he raised earlier with an eyebrow slightly raised, as if posing a question. 

When Ned turned to his younger daughter--nothing scared him more than the look upon her eyes. 

Of course he feared the looming threat of the East and the legendary creatures that would wreak havoc upon the realm. 

But the look upon Arya’s eyes--he only ever saw upon his late sister, Lyanna. 

They called it Wolfsblood. 

It was a thirst for adventure, the dangerous, the risky. 

The subject of Arya's Wolfsblood glance fell upon Jaime Lannister. 

Ned was horrified when Arya’s chin turned and nodded towards the man.

“Arya--” he started. 

“Please, Your Grace--if you would allow Her Grace to stay a moment, I have my own announcement to make.” Jaime announced.   
  
Cersei wriggled against her father’s small but firm grip on her arm and turned to meet her twin.

“Stay, but calm yourself.” Robert muttered under his breath when Cersei returned to the table.    
  
“I have found myself as Lord of Casterly Rock, signed into an abandoned marriage contract, details of which need not to be repeated, as it can easily be nullified, no harm done. However--with your permission of course, Your Grace, I believe that my House is still effectively owed a bride.” 

Robert managed a nervous chuckle. “Of course! We can discuss that--”    
  
“With your express permission, I’d like to preserve the very same contract with a different bride. It is afterall, already signed--and because of the terms of Highgarden’s agreement, effectively and quite generously sponsored.”

Catelyn’s heart started to pound wildly, and she felt Ned tense beside her.

“It will involve the same family, and further ties the North to the Crown.” 

Ned started to stand--his knuckles were starting to whiten for he gripped the table too hard. 

“What are you--?” Cersei started. 

Robert eyed him seriously, finally understanding his meaning. “Consent granted.” 

“With His Grace’s express consent--Lord and Lady Stark, I hereby propose to preserve the abandoned marriage contract under the name of Lady Arya.” Jaime declared confidently. 

Ned had an arsenal of excuses for relief.    
  
He could petition to ask for delay so he could review the terms just to buy him time. 

He could petition to postpone the betrothal because of her age.

He could lie and declare her legitimately promised to someone else. 

But the tug on his sleeve was too fast, too confident. 

“Father--I accept him.” she whispered. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay, but I think the second part of this chapter will be released a lot sooner than how I made ya'll wait for this one.   
> Life has truly, truly been hectic, as I can probably guess for all of you as well with this pandemic.  
> I've been anxiety ridden these past few weeks, so everything I've been writing has been so sad, and this is not a sad fic--so I had to take a significant break from it to preserve my intentions with it. 
> 
> **PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE ME COMMENTS!**
> 
> I like to know what you think, what you liked, what you didn't like, what you want to see and etc. 
> 
> I should tell you though, I already outlined this story and I am infamous for proceeding as I intended. 
> 
> Love Always,  
> Meesh 
> 
> _Notes:_ You may notice that I didn't really build Sansa's character too much--I really just wanted to focus on Jaime and Arya--I also wanted to detail the terms of the contract but my anal personality kept finding holes so I'm sorry that it's vague.


	3. Chapter II: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to: **Shelly_loves_kale**
> 
> Happy Birthday, love!  
> This chapter is for you :)

**Arya** **  
  
**

_ “I accept him.”  _

The words kept repeating inside her head.

What has gotten into her? 

The actual breakfast was a blur, a reminder of why she absolutely detested these occasions and why she was content with being potentially tied to a significantly lesser house per fate, an escape from it all. 

But Jaime’s gaze, his confidence, his voice, and then his seeking of her approval--she unconsciously, yet daringly acquiesced. 

She nodded before she could completely understand what he needed her approval for. 

To have leave and stay at Casterly Rock with The Kingslayer? Yes, absolutely. 

She missed the most important part of it, though.

If she had known that he was going to ask for--no, take, take her hand in marriage, would she have given him the nod that he seeked?

Arya knew the answer, she just didn’t want to revisit it.

By the time he had laid the proposal out, she was daunted by her own father’s stance. Arya knew Ned’s expression all too well, and she was immediately alarmed. 

For her own father’s protection, she voiced out those words to dispel further conflict.

Did she mean them?

She again knew the answer, but it still made her shudder nonetheless. 

Things were silently tense after breakfast. Arya actively avoided Jaime’s gaze up until they were dismissed, and the sumptuous food on her plate remained untouched. 

“Why?” Ned asked when they reached their private parlor inside the keep. He asked Catelyn to take Sansa in the opposite quarters to relax before the ball that evening. “What has he said to you? Are you afraid of him?”    
  
Arya bore her gaze into her father’s eyes and shook her head. “I am not afraid of anyone.”   
  
“Then why, child? Arya--why did you have to…”    
  
“You were upset, father. It was tense enough as it is…”    
  
Ned breathed a sigh of tremendous relief. “Arya, leave it to me. I will try and talk to Robert and come to another agreement. I was too focused on your sister’s predicament and the eastern threat that I--”    
  
“My engagement is inevitable, father--that much I understand. My fate in the Westerlands seems much more manageable and beneficial than--the fate you’d have arranged for me up North.” 

Ned turned to her suddenly, surprise present in his eyes. “How did you--”    
  
“I overheard you discussing it with Mother. The walls are quite thin--” 

“Please, allow me to explain…”    
  
“Father, I wasn’t upset about the fact that you had to consider the proposal. I know that it has been the only one for my hand. Sansa had received plenty even before she flowered and mother was adamant about the great impossibility of finding me a better match because of my unladylike, nonconformist, undesirable, wildling ways. I never doubted that you would’ve done what was best for me…”   
  
“But I gave you my word, Arya. I said that when you came of age, I would find you a match--”

Arya laughed and nuzzled her head on her father’s chest. “Someone who was gentle and strong--”    
  
“And worthy of you--any heir of Walder Frey was never going to be your match, child--and I terribly regret how my passiveness in conversation about the matter drove you to believe that The Kingslayer’s proposal was worthy of you. Your mother and I agreed to stall the match, hoping for a better arrangement or offer to transpire before any formalization was to take place. I recall telling you that I would betroth you to a king, even…”    
  
“I never wanted that…” Arya argued. “That was Sansa’s dream. Do you recall what I said in return?”

Ned’s face turned grim and he nodded. 

“You said, quite confidently, that Jon wasn’t a king.”

Arya laughed at her former silly thought but her father remained silent.   


“I also said that I would make myself a match--of my own choosing.” Arya firmed. “In my own way--don’t you agree that I rather did?”

Arya allowed her father to hold her for a long time and they revered in the silence. 

**Tywin** **  
  
**

After settling Cersei inside the Queen’s quarters, with the help of some herbs, Tywin stormed through the private barracks to seek his eldest son.

Jamie seemed to have wasted no time to emphasize his release from the Kingsguard. When Tywin set upon his son, Jaime not only didn’t acknowledge his entrance into the office, but also donned the red armor suited for the Lord of Casterly Rock. 

Jaime stood by the window, his gold locks newly trimmed, a neat but proud mane atop the head of a true warrior, a new man. 

His son. 

“Your performance this morning--” Tywin started.    
  
“Is this how you intend to congratulate me?” Jaime interrupted jokingly.    


“The honorable Ned Stark would’ve declared a war right then, had your new betrothed not intervened.” Tywin firmed. “You will tell me your mind.”    
  
Jaime met his eyes then, smug expression remained. “It’s quite simple, father. Lady Tyrell knew that she had no ties to the North--for only grandsons remain after Margaery was left to secure this game’s most eligible bachelor. The younger is known for her rebellious ways--and posed a challenge for any of her mild-mannered roses, so I offered to take leave of the contract, securing them the eldest daughter--and ensuring that the new contract would be doubly paid for my sacrifice.” 

Tywin took a seat without taking his eyes off Jaime. 

“The new contract then--”    
  
“Like I mentioned earlier--further ties the North to the crown. While good old Ned loves all of his litter--the youngest daughter holds his own heart dearly. That is no secret in the North, nor the realm. The Tyrells are well-read players, but they miss certain details. While the eldest daughter of any great house holds the greatest value in matrimony, it’s not always true--especially when it pertains to the honorable Starks of Winterfell.”    
  
Jamie procured an elegant scroll from the table and slid it over to Tywin.   
  
“Lady Olenna not only doubled the dowry, she agreed to grant ten thousand men exclusively stationed at The Rock, including a significant fleet--properly trained and manned, preparations would well be en route for the eastern threat. This arrangement tripled the original contract that we had agreed for when we betrothed Margaery to the crown prince. It was a great improvement to an already beneficial arrangement.”

“And your performance? Was there a need for such ostentatious flare? Could you not have secured this contract tactly, rather than potentially slight the Warden of the North and provoke a war?”

Jamie’s face turned serious. “The honorable Eddard Stark--would rather throw himself under the block rather than turn his favorite daughter to a Kingslayer.”

Tywin grimaced at the word. 

Jaime had never called himself his own notorious title.

But when he said it right now, he owned it completely. 

With neither shame or pride, he called himself the disgraceful word as a matter of factly.

Though Tywin would never show it--his insides beamed for Jaime.

“The eldest daughter has always been idealistic and quite naive--embraces her role in the damned game and so it was possible for old Ned to accept the terms under the coaxing and apologies of The King he serves. But Arya…” 

Tywin noted a bit of pride when his son muttered the girl’s name.    
  
“I had to propose the contract in a manner that it could not be refused. A public proposal from a recognized Lord--with the sovereign’s express consent was not something he could possibly turn down.” 

‘Well played, my son.’ Tywin wanted to say--and for the very first time in his life, he sincerely would’ve meant it. It was as if he was speaking to a new man. A son--a child of his for which he carried the utmost pride. 

“Whatever it is that caused you to act in your own accordance in order to make this highly detailed arrangement at your own will--I highly advise you to never let go of it.” Tywin said instead. 

“I have all but secured it.” Jamie responded firmly, soft in tone but with determined resolution. 

“As we speak, however--I am certain that Lord Stark is thinking about how to turn this around--nothing yet is set in stone…”    
  
Tywin raised an eyebrow. 

“Father--I have never said these words to you before, but I need to say them now.” 

Tywin waited and their emerald eyes locked. 

“I need your help.” 

**Arya II**

“Sansa Tyrell, The Lady of Highgarden.” Sansa declared for the hundredth time that afternoon in front of the full length mirror in their room to get ready for the ball. “I am Lady Tyrell--it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Arya sat silently with scowl on her face as Septa Galayne brushed the knots of her hair and Catelyn attended to Sansa’s dress.

“Mother, could I don a green dress this evening? It would be fitting to wear the colors of my future husband’s house. Arya could wear the red, she is, afterall going to be Lady Kings--”    
  
“SANSA!” Catelyn scolded.    
  
“Lady Lannister…” Sansa corrected herself.    
  
“I am keeping my last name, Sansa.” Arya declared. “My name is always going to be Stark. And your dresses don’t fit me.”

“Yes, you’re far too short and lacking.” Sansa teased, met with a warning glance from their mother. “I’m only teasing! Fine, insist on the gray dress fit for a little girl. By the way--you’re not allowed keep your last name…”    
  
“If the Queen was able to remain Cersei Lannister despite marrying the sovereign, what makes you think that I cannot?” Arya posed.    
  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m sure that there were protocols in place--they can’t possibly apply to you--”    
  
“Read a book or something for once in your life, dimwit. Lannister gold continues to fund the Baratheon reign--THAT is why the Queen can get to keep her name. I will get to keep my name because the Starks have the manpower to face the looming eastern threat--”   
  
“What eastern threat?” Sansa asked. “Are you reveling in Old Nan’s stupid stories again?” 

“You’re an idiot.” Arya declared. 

“That’s enough!” Catelyn warned. 

A soft but firm knock from the door interrupted them. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting at an inopportune time.” Lord Tywin’s voice boomed from the entrance of their quarters.   
  
Catelyn stood, somewhat surprised. “No, my lord. We were only preparing for the festivities this evening. We are decent, please come in.”

Lord Tywin entered with his usually grim face, and two servants followed him. 

“I intended to send the servants with these gifts, but I thought it might be fittingly personal to accompany them, seeing that this evening is a grand celebration for all of our families.” 

He gave Arya a knowing glance before motioning for the first servant to come forward. “Lady Sansa, compliments from the Tyrell family. I believe that they expect you to don this dress for the announcement of your engagement tomorrow morning. The roses are from Lord Willas himself, as well--they are for you, your mother and Lady Arya.” 

Sansa cooed and fawned over the big white box. Arya struggled not to roll her eyes. 

Tywin continued to scan Arya’s features before motioning the second servant to come forward.   
  
“A dress was also made for you, Lady Arya--and this, is from Lord Jaime.” 

Arya didn’t care to look at the box that was placed in front of her because her eyes were glued to the thin, long brown satchel that Tywin presented her. 

“What is it?” Sansa asked curiously.

Arya wanted to punch her. 

“Go on…” Lord Lannister encouraged her.

Arya felt the weight on her hand and knew what the ‘gift’ was even before she unveiled it from the suede casing. 

Needle. 

Arya fought a smile. He is absolutely brilliant! She could now carry her precious sword without having to hide it--presented in front of her mother under the guise of her betrothed's own present, it cannot be taken away from her. 

“That’s quite--unusual--but very fitting for my dear sister, indeed!” Sansa managed sweetly. “How very thoughtful of Lord Jaime.” 

Arya still wanted to punch her. 

“We are grateful and sincerely touched by your personal service, my lord.” Catelyn muttered after some moments, she was certainly displeased about the sword, but she made no show of it. “We look forward to seeing you this evening.” 

**Tywin II**

It’s not like Tywin to be easily impressed.

Not at all.   


He lived too many years, suffered too many betrayals, and won too many feats in this life to be awed by overnight one acts. 

He wanted to believe that he was to be commended himself for Jaime’s sudden transition as an aggressive player. Afterall, it was his idea to send Jaime away to Essos and part him from his twin for the first time in his life. He wanted to believe that the journey finally gave Jaime the opportunity to grow and be his own man. 

It wasn’t until he heard the girl speak in which he recognized that while his assignment played a big part in Jaime’s change--she all but secured that he would carry it through. 

All without having to ask. 

Clever girl.

_ “Read a book or something for once in your life, dimwit. Lannister gold continues to fund the Baratheon reign--THAT is why the Queen can get to keep her name. I will get to keep my name because the Starks have the manpower to face the looming eastern threat--” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What eastern threat?” the elder girl whined. “Are you reveling in Old Nan’s stupid stories again?”  _

_ “You’re an idiot.” she declared.  _

Clever, clever girl. 

The scene of the ball was droll--nothing bored him more than seeing his rather useless grandson being celebrated for a life he neither understood nor deserved. 

After the formal announcements were made and everyone seemed invested in their cups, he noted that Lord and Lady Stark were in deep conversation with the Tyrells along with their elder daughter--as respectively idiotic as his own grandson, who kept fluttering her pretty eyes at the mild-mannered young lord that she found herself engaged to.

‘She should have been Joffrey’s. It would be far easier to rule with both idiots on the Iron Throne.’ he thought silently. The Tyrell girl was brilliant, to be sure--but he knew that her own loyalty defaulted to her own house, and not the crown. 

Tywin’s eyes scanned the room again and found Jaime seated with the Lannister bannermen who came down for the celebration feast. Gods be good, his son cannot hide his own boredom--his eyes actively scanned the room himself in search of someone. 

So Tywin found himself looking for this someone as well. 

Noticing that the King and Queen were actively engaged in their own boring bitter spat veiled in words that they deemed wise, he motioned one his men to come forward. 

“Tell me where the younger Stark ran off to.” 

**==============**

“You’ve lived here all your life and you’ve never cared to see the dragon pit?” Arya exclaimed incredulously. “That was the first thing I wanted to see--and then maybe I’d see the tunnels under the dragon mine…” 

“Tunnels? Dragon mine?” little Tommen answered, obviously interested but confused. “All in here, in the castle?”    
  
The girl nodded confidently. “They said that the most interesting places inside the Red Keep are well hidden--underground.” 

For the second time that day, Tywin found himself listening to a conversation in which he didn’t belong. Arya Stark likely found herself bored inside the great hall, and at first opportunity took to the practice field not far from the ballroom doors, with the prince’s little wooden bow in her hand. 

Effortlessly, she landed a close bulls-eye on the target. 

“Bulls-eye!” The little prince exclaimed. “You’re really good!” 

Arya laughed. “I missed it!”

“But it’s really close, isn’t it?”

“A close one is not a bulls-eye. A bulls-eye is a bulls-eye.” 

Tommen’s face remained encouraging. “You would’ve probably landed it with a better bow! This one is a toy, my uncle Tyrion gave it to me for my last name day.”

“A true warrior doesn’t make excuses--she either hits her target or she gets hit. Best if we remember that early--now, watch, I won’t move from this position and I’ll use the same bow.” 

Bulls-eye. 

Tommen clasped his hands together and Arya, for the first time since Tywin had been acquainted with her, delivered a perfectly sarcastic curtsy. 

“You said--she.” Tommen noted when the girl gathered another arrow.

“What?” she asked. 

“You said, ‘she’--when you talked about a true warrior--I don’t think I’ve ever heard of ladies being warriors...” Tommen clarified.    
  
“Do you not know about Visenya Targaryen? Rhaenys?” Arya asked.    
  
“Aegon’s sisters?”    
  
“They’re more than that, they were dragon riders. They were warriors in their own right. Together with Aegon, they took over Harrenhal…” Arya stated the tale briefly.   
  
“How come I didn’t hear about them when I was told about Harrenhal?” Tommen wondered sincerely. 

The girl kept a smug look about her face and turned to aim. “They almost always never make it into the stories--they only write and celebrate the parts about the children they bore for the King.” she answered bitterly. “Scratch that--the sons that they bore for the King.” 

“It doesn’t make their legacies any less important, you’d be wise to remember that.” 

It’s not like Tywin to be easily impressed.    
  
Not at all. 

But the girl seemed to have impressed him without any effort whatsoever. 

Tywin turned his heel back to the ballroom and silently thanked the Gods for blessing his son with such fortune.

**Jaime**

Jaime continued to scan the room for her--they haven’t spoken nor glanced at each other since he claimed her for a bride this morning. 

Tywin’s--rather, his own bannermen kept conversation amongst themselves, and he’d nod occasionally to be engaged, but even Ned Stark’s wrathful glances from the high table couldn’t sway him from the image of her face in his mind. 

Jaime had everything in place, to be sure, the breakfast was upon Lady Olenna’s invitation at his behest. But if Arya had shown any sign of discomfort, uncertainty, great confusion or downright hesitance about the matter--he would’ve left it at his release from the guard and figured out her situation later. 

But the way her gray eyes locked on to his when he posed his question--and the way her own jaw clenched with an undoubtable affirmative nod--he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It was nothing short of magical--it was as if they were in full understanding of each other and he in turn could not be more certain about anything else in his life. The only other time he could think of was the moment that he earned his infamous title--and even if he saved the realm that day, without gratitude, his own pride then fails in comparison to the glorious empowerment he felt when Arya Stark nodded at him that morning. 

“I’m not surprised that you’re not inclined to dance. But I’m rather disappointed that you haven’t gotten up to stand by your betrothed.” Tywin interrupted his thoughts, in a tone that was only for him to hear.

Jamie laughed. “I thought I’d give Lord Stark the benefit of simmering in his wrath for the evening.” 

His father’s face remained grim as he took the seat next to his upon being greeted by his own men at the table. “Lord and Lady Stark are occupied by the Tyrells at present--and it won’t change any time soon. The young lady is just outside by the field with your younger nephew though her Septa is not far.”    


Jamie looked over the other table where Ned’s solemn face was still surrounded by the Tyrell brood, though his wife carried most of the actual conversation, he was indeed in no position to excuse himself. 

“Go.” His father commanded. “And tell her of the new arrangement.” 

Jamie turned to face his father and tried in vain to hide his surprise. “It--it is done?” 

Tywin nodded. “It is not every day that any kin of mine has expressly requested my assistance as humbly as you did, and my pride will not allow me to fail. Now, go.” 

Jamie stood abruptly to take leave but not before Tywin tugged at his sleeve once more. 

“You were able to steal a victory from her this morning--it wouldn’t fare well to pull another stunt again, especially since this is all your doing--to surprise her with this progress will only be seen as betrayal. Highly tolerable as the girl is, you will remember that she will always be a Stark raised in the North by Eddard and her brothers. You are fortunate--undeservingly fortunate to have secured a clever mind that will continue to propel you if you allow it--so I highly advise you to not, under any circumstances--spoil it. Tell her of the arrangement before she hears it from someone else.”

Jamie’s jaw clenched at Tywin’s words long after he muttered them. It was extremely unlike of his father to give praise to another person so easily. Especially one that he has not acquainted himself with for a length of time. He couldn’t recall any event that Tywin had given any open praise to any of his own children, indirectly or not. 

But at the back of his mind--he’s known… He’s always known--that the fiery wolf was different.

“Go.” Tywin hissed impatiently after he remained standing there for some time.

**Arya III**

“You’ll really only hear about Balerion--but if you read into it further, you’d see that Visenya rode Vhagar, and Rhaenys had Meraxes…” Arya continued as she handed Tommen his bow to practice his aim. “They were both important to the story too--”    
  
“Uncle!” Tommen exclaimed, his bright eyes excited behind her head. 

Arya felt a familiar flutter beneath her navel upon realizing that Jaime stood behind her. She has successfully avoided him all evening, tried very hard to not meet his eyes, simply because she wanted to avoid the reaction that she was having now. 

It could not be quelled. The surprise of the betrothal didn’t hit her until she donned the red dress that was gifted to her by the Tyrells this afternoon. When she came upon her own reflection in the mirror, she hardly recognized the girl who looked back. Upon her mother’s insistence, her hair was glossed in sweet smelling oils and combed thoroughly, dark brown locks fell rather softly just under her shoulders. She was told that the dress was custom designed for her fit by a rather skilled maker who accompanied the Tyrells from Highgarden and generously expedited by Lady Olenna’s coin. The style was still conservative, and it was comfortable, to her delight.

The regal scarlet hue then reminded her of her engagement. 

To the Kingslayer. 

To Jaime Lannister. 

Upon that thought, Arya’s heart skipped a playful beat that she wouldn’t have allowed.

Arya didn’t expect to have such an easy reunion with him. She hadn’t expected to see him at all, really, because she last heard that he was not present in King’s Landing when they rode. When she met his eyes for the first time again in two years her silliness in their first acquaintance resurfaced in both her mind and body. 

And then--it was simple. 

Simple again. 

Simple. 

It wasn’t kissing--but it was simple. 

Arya spoke to him simply and found it so natural to be honest with him. Jaime constantly gave her expressions of admiration and amusement rather than admonishment and shame when she shared her true thoughts, much like her brother Jon, who she hasn’t seen in a long time. 

Arya didn’t realize how much she thought about the way he looked, the way his voice sounded, the way he stood, what he said, the questions he asked, and the way he fought. When she went to bed the night after they had their first lesson--she wondered why thoughts of him clouded her mind before sleep could come upon her. 

There was also the feel of his skin on hers. 

Jaime Lannister lifted her chin twice since they were reunited with an ungloved hand on two separate occasions. She found herself visiting those memories too often in a day--and just remembering the scene gave her that same familiar flutter under her belly. 

The same feeling that she felt now, knowing that he was behind her. 

She summoned all of her courage to turn and meet his eyes, hoping that he couldn’t read her thoughts at the moment, for she was certain that her cheeks would match her dress’ hue. 

‘Say something, you idiot.’ she scolded herself.

“Tommen--I need to speak to Lady Arya privately. Do you mind giving us a moment?” Jaime asked, his emerald eyes not taking leave of her own.    
  
Grateful for relief, she turned her gaze to Tommen, who didn’t hide his dismay. “We escaped the hall because it was boring--and we didn’t want to dance. Please don’t send me back there, uncle.” he groaned. 

Jaime laughed and his perfect set of white teeth shone under the moonlight. 

‘Stop it, stupid.’ she scolded herself again. 

Jaime looked differently today--he no longer donned his white Kingsguard outfit, and in its place was a rather formal, albeit well-fitted gold and red doublet. 

“We will only be a moment--I promise.” Jaime responded. 

Tommen nodded and turned to her. “If I am not dismissed for bed by the time you return to the hall--could you dance with me? I know we said that we both don’t care for it--but we can’t exactly play with my bow in there and I don’t want to be bored anymore…”   
  
Arya laughed heartily. “Alright, my first and only dance of the evening belongs to you. Only because you let me borrow your bow.” 

Tommen skipped back into the hall. 

Arya unconsciously bit her lip and turned to meet Jaime again, hoping to quell more of her anxiousness. 

“I wanted to--”   
“I wanted to--”

“What?”   
“What?” 

And then they both laughed nervously. 

It was simple again.

“Please.” Jaime offered.

Arya could think of more than a dozen things that she wanted to ask him, to tell him.

‘How did you manage to manipulate the Tyrell contract?’ 

‘I understand why you had to express the contract publicly.’

‘I know that you waited until I nodded--I can’t tell you how much that means to me.’

'Sansa never deserved you.’

“I wanted to thank you for making sure that ‘Needle’ was brought to me the way you did.” Arya said instead. “It meant a lot to me.” 

Jaime nodded but a hint of confusion flashed across his face.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Arya asked when the silence was too long. 

Which was probably not at all, she was just nervous. 

“I have an engagement present for you.” Jaime responded. 

Arya lifted a brow. “You already gave me the power to wield ‘Needle’ freely--I doubt that there would be anything else that could…”    
  
Jaime shook his head. “No. This one is from me.” he emphasized the last word subtly, but she caught it. “And it’s not something I can physically give you--he’s on the way to Casterly Rock as we speak.” 

“He?” Arya asked, highly confused. 

Jaime nodded. “His name is Syrio Forel, known as the First Sword of Braavos. I commissioned his services to give you formal instructions. I thought that his style might fit you more than my own--though I still look forward to sparring with you.” 

Arya couldn’t help the curve that her lips bequeathed him. “Truly?” 

Jaime nodded his amusement at her reaction and he looked at her deeply.

She was brought back to two years past again. 

Whether or not she acknowledged it yet, Arya was a bit bolder now, and allowed her own thoughts to wander a bit more honestly.

It wasn’t that long ago afterall, when she declared to herself that Jaime Lannister was the most beautiful man she had ever met. Nothing made her feel more seen than when he rescued her wretched day by procuring a wooden sword for her--her reaction to run to him seemed so natural then too. 

To kiss him was different--that was her choice. A challenge she posed for herself and won.

It was simple, but it was different. 

She thought he was beautiful now, as he stood over her regally and further encouraged her passion without hesitation--the only person to fully do so besides her favorite brother. 

Her heart swelled, and she struggled to hide her pure delight. She would probably jump into his arms now as naturally as she did two years past but--things were slightly different now.

Different--but still simple.

She groaned playfully. “Casterly Rock seems so long from now--Mother said that we likely wouldn’t be wed--that we wouldn’t leave for the Rock until after The Prince’s wedding--which is close to a moon from now, and then Sansa’s, so--almost three moons...”   
  
“That’s actually--what I wanted to talk to you about.” he interrupted. 

In a moment’s pause--it seemed as if Jaime’s shirt had shrunk, for he started tugging it away from his neck. 

Arya waited patiently for his next words.

Her heart started to race.

“I--I didn’t want to risk…” he coughed to clear his throat. “Due to the hasty changes regarding the original marriage contract between your sister and…” 

Was he--stammering? 

Arya really couldn’t hold a small grin now. 

Jaime coughed again. “I was able to make arrangements to move our wedding date up--to avoid the risk of--if we wait longer, the chances of unwanted changes--” he paused and ran a hand down his perfectly trimmed hair. 

“I didn’t want an opportunity for any intervention to befall us.” he said firmly. 

Like the fluttering under her navel, Arya had no control over the shiver that went down her spine when Jaime’s tone turned firm on his last remark.

He said, ‘us.’

Arya swallowed and tried to recover from her last reaction by distracting herself with the excitement of his engagement present. “You mean--my lessons with the ‘First Sword of Braavos’ could start sooner than three moons?” 

It was Jaime’s turn to swallow hard this time.

“A lot sooner.” 

Arya paused then, and she bravely tried to read his eyes despite her own heart beating loudly--it wasn’t because of his presence this time, she was sure. She was daunted by his hesitation. 

“How--how soon?” she asked. 

He bit the inside of his cheek before taking a breath and looking away. 

“Three days.” 

**======**

When they left Winterfell close to over a week ago, Arya thought that her fate by this time would only be at Sansa’s behest as Prince Joffrey’s future Princess, and future Queen of the realm.

She never in a million moons imagined that she would be seated at the end of The Kingslayer’s bed, in a rich silk robe gifted by Lady Margaery and nothing else but her bottom small clothes underneath a newly made ivory chemise fit for a new bride. 

Arya felt moisture upon her own forehead as her fingers mindlessly fiddled with the edges of the fur that covered the unfamiliar bed. 

_ “Three days.” Jaime answered quicker than she could absorb. “And we leave for the Rock the morning after.”  _

Arya didn’t have any time to respond as her father came to unexpectedly collect her almost immediately after Jamie broke the news. 

Not that she would’ve known what to say, anyway. 

The King made the announcement to his small council and their respective families, along with the Tyrells during another breakfast the next day. It was agreed upon that the hastiness of their union was necessary to manage the incoming retinue that Lady Olenna had provided per the new contract, and settlements should be managed by the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock, finally. It would be wise to start preparations against the eastern threat as soon as possible, anyway. 

Arya couldn’t be bothered by anyone else’s reaction or feelings about the matter for she didn’t have any time to sort out her own. Her first thought was to send Jon a raven with the news--but thought the better of it and did not. She was certain that both her mother and sister spoke to her endlessly about the wedding and what to expect and short term plans, but for the most part her ears heard, but couldn’t be bothered to listen. 

She knew that her father was seething, for he hasn’t spoken a word since the date of her wedding was announced. Her father has always been somber, his power is usually displayed with grace and subtlety, yet she didn’t think he could be any more sullen than he already was. 

As agreed--a small private ceremony was held in the Great Sept, with only the royal families in attendance. A more formal ceremony was going to be held in Casterly Rock, to be fittingly witnessed by their own bannermen and noble vassal houses at a later date. 

Arya tried to remember the ceremony, but though she looked at Jaime’s eyes for comfort when he cloaked her in red, she failed to remember the words that were recited then, nor did she remember how she felt during the time. Locking gazes with the Kingslayer had always incited powerful unknown emotions in her--but at that time it was devoid. She felt like she was placed in a distinctly choreographed dance, and she didn’t enjoy it. 

She sat beside her new husband at the intimate dinner that was prepared and only had bites of the fresh bread rolls, her mind occupied about what was soon to transpire. The Queen was present, seemingly dedicated to her cups the entire time--and threw her the most sardonic glances. Arya could not be bothered to care about her reasons, she was too focused about the hastiness of the last few days.

Sansa tried to be helpful by generously asking the servants to refill her goblet. 

_ “Remember what mother said,” Sansa muttered when they had a moment. “This will ease your nerves and make the experience tonight less uncomfortable.”  _

_ “How would you know?” Arya spat back. “You’ve never been bedded--at least all the way.”  _

_ Sansa smiled deviously. “Unlike you, I have at least kissed before.” _

Arya would’ve internally smirked then, remembering the victory she stole from Jaime.

But from where she sat, she couldn’t even find a glimmer of the smugness that is usually so present within her. 

They were given matrimonial chambers close to where the Tyrells were situated, a good distance from the main keep and her family’s assigned quarters. It wouldn’t do to desecrate the Kingsguard Captain’s assigned chamber. Septa Galayne informed her that she cared to place certain oils for her to rub on herself inside the bedside drawer when the room was being prepared to help with the inevitable pain that she was about to endure. 

Arya shuddered at the thought.

_ “It will hurt, but it will get better after the first.” said her mother. “Close your eyes and bite your handkerchief.”  _

_ “Do not stop him from what he is doing--allow him to finish.” her mother continued. “The first time is never pleasant for the woman.”  _

_ “Tell him that you like what he’s doing, even if you really don’t. It will be over sooner.” added Sansa. “Once he’s done, so are you.” _

Because the reception was intimate and private--it was understood that the traditional bedding ceremony was going to be bypassed. After changing inside their quarters, Catelyn and Sansa walked her over to this chamber, but not before her father gave her a desperate kiss on the top of her head. 

Arya didn’t miss the sound of the chamber door opening. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

‘Old Gods--you’re not here, because Godswood can’t possibly survive in the stench of this city, but Jon told me that you’re everywhere.’ Arya prayed in silence for the first time in a long time. ‘I didn’t know that you were listening to me then, but you--you seemed to have answered my call--I didn’t know that it was going to be--QUITE this way, or this soon, not that I’m complaining but… If you’re listening now…’ 

She took another long breath when she heard him approaching. 

‘Please help me.’ Arya finished. ‘I don’t know how--but please help me.’

Arya summoned all of her courage and reminded herself of Queen Visenya when she braved to meet Jaime’s eyes, he stood at the receiving table across the room. 

He was no longer wearing the red and gold doublet from the festivities--just a well-fitted shirt and trousers. For some reason, that gave Arya a bit of comfort--some familiarity. 

When silence kept their company for more moments, Arya finally stood--only to approach the head of the bed and laid down waringly. She unlaced the ribbon of her robe and kept her eyes and clasped hands on top of her lap. 

‘Be brave, be brave, be brave.’ 

‘You’re brave, you’re brave, you’re brave.’ 

‘You won’t just let him hurt you and finish, that’s not you.’

‘You’re brave.’’ 

“We haven’t gotten the chance to speak.” Jaime said softly, not moving from where he stood. 

Arya nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “We haven’t been alone since--you told me about Syrio.”

“We’re alone now.” he responded in a much lighter tone and she heard his footsteps approach the candle lit table at the end of the room. “Join me?” 

Arya bit her lip and found herself not wanting to move from where she laid. 

When she didn’t respond to his invitation for a significant moment, she heard him move again--towards her this time

Arya swallowed and played with her thumbs as he sat beside her, the bed shifting slightly with his weight.    
  
“You’re afraid.” he muttered. 

It wasn’t a question.

‘You’re not afraid of anyone. You’re brave. You’ll win. Tell him you’ll win. Show him you’ll win. Show him you’re not afraid. You’re not afraid. You’re brave. You’re brave. You’re brave.’ 

The all too familiar feeling of his forefinger under her chin broke the trance she built inside her head and she felt her eyes glossed over. 

“I am.” she answered truthfully, her voice shaking.

**Jaime II**

Jamie cursed himself repeatedly after she walked away with her father that evening, offering him nothing more than a hesitant yet curt nod before she took her father’s arm.

_ “Three days.” he answered. _

Like it was no big deal. 

As if she understood why he proceeded the way he did. 

As if she was supposed to simply understand his intentions and go along with the inevitable. 

She’s brilliant, but she’s so young. 

‘You treated her like a pawn.’

‘No better than your father.’ 

‘No better than Cersei.’ 

‘You bloody fucking idiot!’

Jaime slashed through the straw dummy relentlessly, he left the ball shortly after Arya exited with her father. He admonished himself for not realizing how careless the second part of his plan was, how powerless he left her, simply because his strategy was always a precise, sure hit.

Simple--but careless. 

He only realized his mistake once he muttered the words to her, ‘Three days.’ he declared, and all of a sudden--amusement and mischief left her eyes. 

They were replaced with confusion and fear.

Fear. 

The last thing he ever wanted to draw out of her was fear.

Arya unconsciously enabled him to be courageous, to feel empowered--and this is how he repaid her? By making her believe that he was to be feared?

She smiled at him so generously when he told her about Syrio--and he wished he could’ve stayed in that moment of the conversation. 

Of course he couldn’t. For whether he liked to admit it or not, his father was right about the delivery of the news--better from him than from anyone else. 

The next three days were excruciating. Cersei didn’t bother to summon him this time, just stormed inside his office indignantly shortly after the new plan was announced. 

_ “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” she shrieked. “WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT?”  _

_ Jaime waved her off, too much else occupied his mind. “I could waste my time explaining how this new plan only benefits the crown--”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT THIS IS FOR ME!” Cersei spat. “Wedding Joffrey’s discarded cunt was supposed to be for me, this backhanded deal, you suddenly acting as if you’re a player of this game--I do not know your purpose, but this is not for me!”  _

_ Jaime bellowed heartily. “It wasn’t for you, you self-centered cunt.”  _

_ The slap on his cheek came too fast, but the laughter couldn’t be wiped off his face.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What do you think you’re doing? Once father--” _

_ “Father was the one who convinced Robert to push the new date through.” Jaime answered smugly. “I will be wed in three--two days.”  _

_ Cersei paused then. “For what purpose--for the girl?” she asked incredulously. “Arya? That long-faced child? You did all of this for her?”  _

_ Jamie turned to the window then. “I’m happy that your brain has started to work again, sister. Just a little more time away from your luscious cups and you might be useful counsel again.”  _

_ Cersei gritted her teeth. “Have you lost your mind? Do you realize that she’s merely a year younger than your own daughter? Two years younger than your son?  _

_ Jamie didn’t indulge her.  _

_ “You sick--”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Do not talk to me about sick, Cersei. You wanted children with me, and I gave them to you--not because I desired you, but because in my heart, I truly loved you.”  _

_ Hate is not the opposite of love.  _

_ Loved is the opposite of love.  _

_ “I never even got to be around any of them until they were able to walk--I was, I am their uncle, for that was the only role you allowed me to have. You never gave me the chance to make decisions in their regard and I stupidly just gave way. Everything I allowed myself to do was only at your bidding, only with your permission--but that was then, and this is now.” he declared firmly, not looking away from her.  _

_ “You WILL forgive me for moving on my own accord. In less than three days, I will be wed, I will return to Casterly Rock, and I will spearhead the military preparations for the looming eastern threat--for the realm, for all our family.”  _

_ Cersei smiled her signature sarcastic smile. “Fancy yourself noble, don’t you? You’ve always been a lovesick fool. What will you do with that girl once you tire of her cunt--”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Jamie didn’t allow her to finish the insult, in two long strides, he was up against her and he dragged her effortlessly back to the door by the elbow.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “You are undoubtedly familiar with the infamous title that I am bestowed.” he warned, tone low. “Treason is not a stranger to me, Your Grace, I have delivered it myself. Should you ever insult Arya’s name in my presence again, I promise to bestow treason cleanly across your neck, and remind you why they call me a Kingslayer.” _

Cersei paled, but Jaime didn’t care when he slammed the door in her face. 

**======**

He couldn’t remember the ceremony.    
  
She looked up at him when he cloaked her but her gaze was empty. 

He cursed at himself again.

During the reception he made sure to engage her parents in conversation, though they were forcefully polite, he found that he couldn’t pluck up the courage to seek her eyes again, either.    
  


He noticed that she didn’t touch the food on her plate, so after everyone retired and she was taken away by her mother to change, he asked the servants to lay out food in their matrimonial chamber. 

Jaime waited patiently to give her time to eat--though he knew he needed a moment to prepare himself as well. 

He knew that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her empty gaze ever again. 

**======**

“I am.” she answered, slightly trembling.

It gave him relief to see that her gaze was no longer empty, but he didn’t like the unfamiliar vulnerability behind them either. 

‘You’re wiser--be better. Bring her back, Jaime. You can.’ 

“Of me?” he asked softly. 

She shook her head and wiped a single teardrop from her cheek. “I--I don’t know what to do.”

Jaime took a moment to ponder her words. 

When he realized what she meant, he felt his own cheeks flush heavily. 

Seven hells. 

It surprised him to realize that the tradition that most couples looked forward to after the wedding had completely escaped his mind. He had been too keen and focused on bringing her back from the upset that he caused, too busy with admonishing himself, that he absolutely missed the most common fear among maidens. 

She didn’t fear him. She feared this. 

She was upset with him, no doubt--but he deserved it.

Without a word, he laced back the ribbon on her robe, she gasped in response until she realized what he was doing, and allowed his movement nonetheless. Then he took her hand, which was so small and so soft in comparison to his, and led her to the table at the end of the room where food awaited. 

“You didn’t eat much earlier.” he remarked.

She sat at the chair he pulled but shook her head. “I wasn’t--I’m not hungry.” 

Jaime took a bread knife and sliced the thick poultry breast on top of some greens for her. “Then just sit here and join me. There’s still fruit and cheese, if your appetite is completely stalled, you should still eat, even a little bit.” 

Confusion flashed across her face, but she nodded and proceeded to drum her fingers on the table, still not wanting to touch anything.

“When we get to the Rock…” Jaime started as he placed the meat slices on her small plate. “Our designated chamber has two parts.”    
  
Arya looked up at him then, still wary. 

He met her eyes firmly. 

“The master bedroom is our bedroom, and I will situate myself there, unless you find the accommodations better than the attached room--which is smaller, but it’s still quite spacious, has the same view of the ocean like the first, and will have everything you need.”

Arya’s brows narrowed and she bit her lower lip slightly. 

‘You’re doing good, Jaime--keep going.’ 

“I expedited the process of our wedding simply because I didn’t want to allow anything that could halt the union, Arya. I should have spoken to you beforehand, but I focused too much on getting the contract fulfilled that I carelessly neglected to seek your counsel on the matter--you, being the other half of this arrangement.” 

Arya remained silent, but there was no more hesitation behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he finally said. 

It took a moment, but his new wife managed to smile. 

It wasn’t the same smile that brought out the best in him, but tonight, it would have to do. 

“Only when you’re ready,” he followed. “When you’re ready--at your own pace and time, we will get to know each other as husband and wife. When you come into our chamber and say the words--that is the only time that I will allow myself to get acquainted with you as--your husband.” 

He hated to admit it, but he probably blushed like a green boy at the last two words. 

But regretted nothing when he looked up at her and recognized that some light had returned to her steely eyes.

It took a moment, but in a little while, they shared some laughs, she finally started to eat, and he shared some anecdotes about the Westerlands with her. The conversation was civil, and some discomfort was still in the air of the room, but Jaime was willing to settle his losses for the evening. 

When they decided to retire for the night, Jaime took a steak knife from the table and hovered towards the middle of the bed. 

Arya was not surprisingly puzzled, but he just laughed. 

Jaime moved the blade to slice a clean, hidden cut on the side of his right hand and allowed some blood drops to stain the middle of the bed. 

It stung as expected, but he knew how to draw blood without leaving a scar. 

“The maids will be instructed to check the sheets for your maiden blood tomo--”    
  
“I know.” she interrupted confidently, tone suddenly familiar. "I know."

When he looked up to meet her gaze that time, his heart skipped a beat again. 

The fire was back in her eyes, and upon her lips, a playful smirk. She watched in amazement as the red liquid droplets fell from his palm.

Jaime nodded before he gathered a handkerchief from his trousers to put pressure on the wound and moved towards the cot by the window. 

He tended to the cut for a moment when she said it.

“Jaime.” 

His heart stopped.

She said his name for the first time without any formal title. 

His name never sounded sweeter. 

He allowed himself to watch as she made her way where he sat--no hesitation nor fear in her expression. 

The girl who mischievously stole an innocent kiss upon him two years ago. 

The woman who made him feel that redemption was possible.

His bride.

His wife. 

With her at full height, and him seated, their faces were aligned, their eyes met easily, and they were so close that he could hear her inhale. 

“Jaime.” she whispered.

“Yes?” he managed to reply after a moment.

Without further warning, Arya placed a soft hand under his jaw, and slowly descended her lips upon his mouth.

The bottom lip that she habitually bit landed in the middle of his own, and it moved slightly upward to coax his apart.

It wasn’t bold. 

But it wasn’t chaste either. 

It was--a kiss. 

Jaime’s heart thundered through his chest when Arya lifted from him, she rubbed her thumb against his jaw and gently took it away. 

“Thank you.” she whispered sincerely before turning to retire for bed.

And just like that--he remembered how he ended up where he sat.

Jaime may not have gone to bed on his wedding night with his manly needs met, no. 

But he was filled exactly where he’s been so deprived for all of his life. 

Arya Stark may not have given him the maidenhead he was owed upon their vows, no--but he received so much more. 

A kiss.

His name by her lips.

Her vows to be his wife.

For the first time in a long time--Jaime felt fulfilled.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **YOUR COMMENTS ON THE LAST CHAPTER WAS THE REASON WHY THIS CHAPTER WAS PUBLISHED SO FAST! SO PLEASE, LEAVE ME COMMENTS!**
> 
> Hello, Readers!
> 
> 1.) Thank you for all the comments on Chapter 2 Part 1. This story is running longer than what I initially thought, in real life, I tend to talk--A LOT, so maybe that's why these chapters are so long? 
> 
> 2.) I decided to do three parts to Chapter 2. The next chapter will explore their developing relationship away from everyone and their mothers. Join me at The Rock!
> 
> 3.) Tywin Lannister is one of my favorite GOT characters--I developed a stupid crush on him in the series. There are no direct significant interactions between him and Arya in this chapter but please stay tuned. 
> 
> 4.) **REQUEST:** I live for "OH, SHIT!" moments as a reader, when you get a second, could you share a part in my story where you literally thought "OH, SHIT!"? This could be for any chapters thus far. 
> 
> 5.) I love the Jaime/Arya ship readers--ya'll are less critical and more constructive with criticism. Like I mentioned before, I haven't read the books yet besides the first one--so I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone for lack of characters or if I go OOC. This story is simply my imagination, and I'm sharing it for ya'll to enjoy. 
> 
> 6.) I might take a break from this fic to return to "The Prince and Princess of Summerhall (Jonrya)" but evidently, I can be swayed with encouragement :) 
> 
> 7.) **Arya's Nod:** I wanted to take a moment to share this with you guys, last chapter, when we saw Arya's nod--I was inspired by the iconic scene from the movie "300". It was when Gorgo (ironically played by the amazing Lena Headey!) gave her affirmative nod to Leonidas. Hopefully it gave you all the same feels when you read it.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe!
> 
> Love,  
> Meesh


	4. Chapter II: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **THE MEESH PLEA:** This is a long chapter. I even contemplated splitting it but I didn't want to betray my original outline and I also didn't want to deprive you guys of interactions and scenes. I always like reading parts that I wrote which made you laugh, or anything that you really liked. It's harder to summarize with long chapters, I understand but please hear my plea and  leave me some comment love 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

**Jaime**

“TOO HANDSOME?”

Jaime sighed in utter disbelief during a late night meeting with Tyrion at the latter’s assigned bedchamber in Casterly Rock. 

“She said that I was ‘TOO HANDSOME?” he repeated the words as if what Tyrion just revealed was vile. 

“I likely drowned a whole moon’s stock of liquor down your bloody throat to get any information--and you’re only giving me _‘too handsome’_? What in the seven hells am I supposed to do about that?” 

Tyrion waved him off, not at all lost in his cups. “I would’ve said too dramatic instead, brother. It’s three bottles of wine, how is that a moon’s supply? We’re not in shortage of gold, last I checked.” 

“Too handsome? Too handsome?” Jaime repeated in disbelief. “That can’t be all she’s confided in you! Too handsome?” 

“For the love of the seven fucking Gods, will you stop bragging?” Tyrion retorted as he poured himself more wine. “That is the only significant comment I gathered--”

“Or wish to impart.” Jaime protested in a whine. “Too handsome?” 

“Do shut up, Jaime.” Tyrion answered. 

It had been three full moons since Jaime took Arya back to Casterly Rock. As promised, she has utilized the attached bedchamber to the master bedroom of the castle, which was previously used as the Lady of the House’s private nursing room that would allow her to bond with a newborn child and still be accessible to the Lord.

Jaime has done everything he could to make sure that Arya felt at home in their new abode. He gave her free reign to practice with Syrio Forel, who commented that she lived up to his promise that she’s a fast and incredibly determined learner. He also granted her permission to leave the castle whenever she wished (with only two guards in tow), to better acquaint herself with their people. When Arya brought home two children after a trip to the local market about a month in, and asked for his permission to host them for lunch, he readily agreed too--despite the possible repercussions his father could apply if he found out. 

_“You know who they are, don’t you?” Jaime asked her privately as the children, Tyna and Shane Hill, ten year old twins with unmistakable dark blond hair and green eyes helped the maids with setting some plates._

_“Why do you think I thought to invite them to dine with us?” Arya whispered back as she laid out some more fruit that she purchased. “They may not be entitled to this house, but they should be welcome here.”_

_“How did--”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Your brother tends to lose himself in conversation as soon as I have his hands tied in cyvasse.” she answered proudly. “All I had to get was their mother’s name--Shae. I somehow came upon the children at the marketplace and made friends.”_

_“You--you’ve been enjoying cyvasse, haven’t you?” Jaime noted quietly as he unnecessarily adjusted a silver fork on the mantle._

_“Enjoying learning from and then beating Tyrion? Absolutely.” she answered._

_“Maybe--you and I could… We could play sometime too.” Jaime offered._

_Arya looked up at him and bit the inside of her cheek._

_There it was._

_That look of hesitation across her eyes._

_That look has never been present between them before but it seemed to have occurred more often since he took her home._

_Jaime absolutely hated it._

_“Uhm--of course. Tyrion said that you didn’t really enjoy it as much so I never…But if you want to, of course we could--”_

_“Do you want to?” he pressed carefully._

_‘Do you want to spend time with me?’ is what he really wanted to ask._

_“Only if you want to…” she answered._

No--that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. 

The last time they most seemed at ease together was the third night of camp on the way to Casterly Rock. That morning, he mindlessly asked her if she wanted to mount a horse instead of being confined in the wheelhouse as instructed by his father. 

The smile she gave him two years past appeared--and his heart swelled so much more than it did the first time. 

Especially after the kiss she granted him on their wedding night. 

But of course, he wasn’t going to think about that. 

It was difficult, but he was not going to think about that. 

Arya rode beside him wonderfully, she was a majestic and eager rider too. After sometime she even challenged him to a short race, which she lost by a hair--but was nonetheless a good sport about it. 

That evening, she granted him a kiss on the cheek before she retired to her assigned tent. She expressed her gratitude for a wonderful day and wished him goodnight. 

Jaime was supremely satisfied with the exchange and somehow found himself too happy to fall asleep. He decided to sit outside under the stars by the fire that they built on the center for a while until sleep came upon him. 

He didn’t expect her to come to him then. 

Arya shyly approached him, wearing a thin wool brown robe on top of her tunic and pants. Her dark brown hair fell loose from her ponytail earlier and was draped on her shoulders gorgeously, and the light from the fire softened her steely gray eyes. 

_“I can’t sleep.” she declared._

_“That’s--that’s alright, me too.” Jaime answered. “Can I get you anything?”_

_She shook her head. “I want to stay here with you.”_

_Jaime’s chest clenched and he nodded. “You can.”_

_Arya smiled then, and immediately seeked the space beside him. Jaime was unsure about how to position himself at first before Arya rested her head on his shoulder. He then draped his arm around her and she happily curled up against him._

No words were really exchanged between them that night, but Jaime only remembered her looking up at him with another heartstopping smile before they both fell asleep. 

Things became pretty hectic as soon as they were welcomed home. Jaime had to settle the living quarters of Lady Olenna’s incoming retinue among other business that his bannermen and advisors brought up. Arya immediately made an impression on the household staff, at one point even dined with the maids in the kitchen and got to know their life stories intimately. The council, which included his uncle, Ser Kevan and long time bannerman Ser Bronn were likewise enamored by her wit and charm once they got acquainted with her. 

Everyone at the Rock seemed to have spent some significant time with his wife since they arrived, including Tyrion’s own bastards, but not him. 

Yes, Arya made sure to dine with him and she always responded cordially--but he felt as if their former banter and bond was missing. When he came upon her and Tyrion during one of their cyvasse dates together, his brother even got her to snort while she laughed freely about a local joke. 

It broke his heart a bit when she abruptly stopped upon seeing him, and the look of hesitation that he’s seen so often flashed across her face. 

_“Apologies, my lord. I didn’t know you had arrived.” she said then._

_‘When has she ever called me ‘My Lord?’” Jaime fumed inside._

“That’s literally all she said? That’s all that you’re going to give me? Brother--you spend more time with her than anyone else here--”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Well no, but that is precisely all you really need to know to put the pieces together.” 

“What pieces?” Jaime countered. 

“For the love of God, Jaime! Don’t let that _handsome_ face of yours hide the little brilliant mind you’ve got up there, somewhere…” Tyrion answered. 

“TOO HANDSOME?” Jaime repeated it again. “Too handsome?” 

“If you bloody say that one more time, I would willingly greet the god of death myself with open arms here and now.” Tyrion barked. “Tell me again--what is it that you want to achieve with the information that you want from me? Why should I betray the young lady’s confidence for it?” 

“We--we haven’t been the same since we came here.” Jaime answered. “Arya used to--she wanted to be around me. Now I feel as if--if she didn’t have to, she wouldn’t. She continually asks you to save some time for cyvasse--she hasn’t asked me for time...” 

“Have you expressed wanting to spend time with her, then?” 

“Bloody hells, Tyrion! I told you about our wedding night--how frightened she was, unsurprisingly for she is so young. I only wanted her to--be assured that I will not rush her into anything that she’s not prepared for. But I do want to spend time with her!” 

“Then spend time with her.” Tyrion quipped. 

“I don’t want her to spend time with me because I asked--I want her to spend time with me because she wants to!” Jaime exclaimed. 

“And what makes you think she doesn’t want to?” Tyrion asked again.

“How many bottles have you had? We’re going around in circles.” Jaime sighed. “It’s that look, and the way she says ‘only if you want to’, or how she addresses me as ‘my lord.’ ’It wasn’t like that between us and I really don’t know what changed…”   
  
“When do you come upon her anyway? Since you arrived home.” 

“Dinners, with you. Sometimes lunches, also with you. And some council meetings with you again and several other men who she seems to find easy to speak to--I thought to give her some time to herself with her lessons that she constantly thanks me for and her trips to the market square…” 

“That was good judgement on your part, the lady does like the freedom you give her.” Tyrion noted. “But when you are together now, even with company, are you her Lord Husband of Casterly Rock or are you the knight that she trusted before you came here?”

Jaime looked up at him. “How do you mean? Am I not both?”

Tyrion stared up at him as if he were the dumbest man to ever speak. “Oh, sweet brother.” 

“Tyrion!” he hissed. “Too handsome? That is all you’d give me?”

Tyrion waved him off for the final time. “Lose the bloody doublets and remind her who you are, you handsome knight. I’m too drunk for this.” 

**Arya**

Arya truly came to love Casterly Rock--every time she came upon a landmark from Jaime, Tyrion or her own father’s stories, she reveled in the historical place. 

Three moons have passed since she left for her new home. Ravens have been plentiful from her family, and she returned them fervently. Robb swore to visit as soon as he is afforded time and told her about Winterfell and her younger siblings, Catelyn wrote about the ongoings in King’s Landing, she never really tried to read much of Sansa’s boastful letters, and her father constantly wrote to her about how much he missed her. 

The only person she hasn’t heard from is Jon. 

But she hasn’t written him anything either. 

Arya is confident that he has been informed about her fate by now. 

‘He’s always with me anyway.’ she reasoned whenever she had the opportunity to unsheathe Needle for her lessons. ‘Always and forever.’ 

She was daunted by the ‘First Sword of Braavos’ at the first meeting, but soon learned to love his style and the lessons he taught her thus far. 

_“Soon,” said Syrio, “Sooner than you think--you won’t even be conscious of your silence like a shadow--you’ll run the walls sideways, you will be one with your weapon--but now, you will learn to read my movements and not my words, and you will answer…”_

_“Answer?”_

_“Do you believe in God?”_

_“The old and the new…”_

_“There is only one God--his name is Death, and we only say one thing to the God of Death--”_

_“Not today.” they said in unison._

Arya enjoyed the company of almost everyone in the household, Tyrion especially, the staff, even the regular visitors, like Ser Bronn and Ser Kevan, and Tyrion’s children who dined with them every now and then, (their mother was still shy about coming, despite Arya’s open invitation.)

The only person she hasn’t really spent time with is her lord husband. 

Arya has been more aware of how attractive he was to her, his features were almost godly, to be honest. However, upon arriving at The Rock, his somewhat unfamiliar sophistication put her off a bit.

At Casterly Rock, Jaime was more of a Lord than a knight. He was always regally dressed, appropriately groomed, and keenly proper. Though Arya admires Jaime’s physical features, she doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

_“It’s like--” Arya tried to explain. “Do you remember my favorite berry tarts from Winterfell? The ones I would beg Jon to steal from the kitchen? The ones that I really, really, really like?”_

_Septa Galayne raised a brow. “So--Lord Jaime is a berry tart?”_

_Arya nodded. “Exactly! Now do you remember that one time that Theon poured peach syrup over them and advised everyone to do the same because it would taste better? But it didn’t? It took away the flaky texture of the tart and made it poisonously sweet and you told me after that two really good things don’t always--”_

_“They’re just clothes, My Lady.” Septa Galayne laughed. “Your husband has a role to fill as the Lord of this Castle, he’s still the same berry tart underneath--”_

_“It’s not just the clothes.” Arya sighed. “He’s--he’s become quite proper. He used to--he’s never been so careful with me before--as if I’d break or something… He’s very cautious when he speaks to me--”_

_“Maybe the Lord aims to please you?” the young lady offered. “To make you comfortable?”_

_“So he could finally bed me?” Arya countered, eyes wide._

_Septa Galayne laughed heartily before Arya shoved her shoulder._

_“Stop it!”_

_“My lady, if your Lord Husband just wanted to bed you--he would’ve taken you by now. It is his right as your husband. I don’t think that’s the case.” the young septa concluded. “Your husband is a gentleman, I’m confident that he will stay true to his word and only acquaint himself with you when you tell him that you’re ready.”_

_“And if I never become ready?” Arya countered._

_“My lady--” Septa Galayne smiled knowingly. “You may not know it but I think you’ve been halfway there for a while now. You may not understand some of the things I’m about to tell you--but I strongly advise you to remember and heed them for the time is just around the corner. I promise you that it will be nothing like what your mother and know-it-all sister have said in the past.”_

**ARYA II**

The sunset sea was a sight that Arya believed she would never tire from. Unlike the harsh waters of the cold North--the summer season came alive when the waves would crash on the shore--the sight was always too pretty for her. True to his word, the ocean view was just as accessible to her chamber as much as it was for Jaime’s. 

Arya decided to walk along the shore this morning, for she had woken up too early for her scheduled lesson with Syrio. Though she’s been trained to be on perfectly on time for their lessons now, it still wasn’t due to begin in a little more than an hour and she had time to spare. 

She was quietly reciting Syrio’s chants in her head when she heard a splash from the waters. 

One of Syrio’s first lessons was for her to listen to patterns--because listening is a part of watching, the deeper counterparts of hearing and merely seeing. The splash was unlike the patterned waves that hit the shore, so Arya immediately ducked behind a stone, clasped Needle’s hilt from her sheathe belt and studied the small disturbance. 

And then she saw him. 

Her lord husband. 

The Kingslayer. 

Jaime Lannister.

Jaime. 

His head was visible from the water and two of his men stood guard not far away but a good distance. She saw him call for a towel as he swam to the shore and emerged. 

Arya swallowed and she felt her mouth dry up. 

Jaime slowly walked up the sand, still wearing cuffed trousers--but his upper body in all its godly glory was uncovered before her. 

This really is what beautiful looks like. 

Arya was then reminded of the first time she had found him handsome in Winterfell, in his Kingsguard armor whilst training his men, but it paled in comparison to what he looked like right now. His golden hair was wet under the beautiful Westerland sun and it lay perfectly atop his head. His broad muscled shoulders were wet, droplets of the sea covered his entire body. His perfectly chiseled midriff was definitely wet. His trousers were wet. 

She was wet. 

Arya’s eyes widened. 

After eyeing the scene a little bit more, Arya quickly turned on her heel and quiet as a shadow, returned to the castle and opted to be rather early for her lessons that morning. 

**=======**

“You are not here!” Syrio exclaimed. “Where are you?”

Arya’s face scrunched as she leaped back on her feet after being flanked by the Braavosi master. “I am literally right here, Syrio.” 

“No you are not!” he replied. “You are with your troubles. And if you let your troubles subdue you--you’d be…” he poked her. “Dead! Where are you?” 

“I am not with my troubles!” Arya countered with an attack that was instantly foiled. 

Syrio paused then, his brow curled knowingly. “Not your troubles? It is your wonder, then--but you’re still not here!” 

Arya parried his attacks as swiftly as she could before he disarmed her again. 

“Troubles, wonders--they are the same. Pick up the sword, dead girl--” 

Arya did and moved to block, but there was no mistaking the footsteps that approached from behind her. With newfound determination, she successfully focused on slowing Syrio’s attacks before the latter locked their wooden practice swords to pause. 

“Ah. You are here afterall. Not dead at all.” Syrio noted with a playful smile at her. “Lord Lannister, a pleasure for you to join us.” 

Arya turned to face Jaime--who now donned a simple white button shirt and the same trousers from the beach just a while ago, still slightly wet.

Arya gulped. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jaime answered. “I just haven’t--I haven’t had the pleasure to sit in during one of the lady’s lessons--” 

“Your timing is perfect!” her instructor answered. “Our lessons have just ended.”  
  
Arya turned to meet Syrio’s eyes, highly confused. “We barely started--”   
  
“But you are not here--you are in your wonder. You are in your excitement. So be in your wonder, be in your excitement--and tomorrow--no. Not tomorrow, the day after--you will be here!” 

Arya bit her lower lip and scowled. Somehow, she understood exactly what he was trying to say and could only hope that her husband would remain clueless. 

“Master Forel, I truly did not mean to--” Jaime started from behind her.

“Oh but of course!” Syrio interrupted. “Wondering girl, why don’t you show Lord Lannister what you have learned so far? I think the First Sword of Braavos will go spend a day at the square. You will excuse me.” he left without waiting for either of their responses. 

Arya then turned to meet Jaime’s eyes--they were still cautious for some reason, but a bit more familiar. 

“Hi.” she muttered. 

‘Hi?’ she thought. ‘Gods you could be so stupid.’

Jaime smiled curtly. “Hello.” 

Arya bit her lip. 

“We don’t--you don’t have to show me if you aren’t ready…” Jaime started. 

Arya got annoyed for reasons she couldn’t think of. “We could.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked again. 

She then lifted her chin and the wooden sword. “I want to.” 

A grateful look passed upon his face and suddenly he didn’t seem as careful anymore, which delighted her greatly.

Jaime collected Syrio’s discarded wooden sword from the floor and started around Arya warily at first, studying her capabilities.

‘Focus’ she said to herself. ‘Win.’

“If you’re going to treat me like I’m some fragile maiden, You-will-end-up--” Arya spat before she turned and pierced his side. “Dead!” 

Jaime laughed then. “There you are.”

Arya granted him a smile. “And there you are.” 

They danced for sometime, unlike Syrio--Jaime’s movements were heavier set, and full of play because he was sparring with her. She learned his patterns fast enough and thought to tire him out. At one point he had her back against the wall but she sprung on her heel sideways with ease, earning a sincerely impressed hoot from him. 

Jaime disarmed her after another match--and not wanting to be declared dead, she instinctively leapt and backed him into a wall, where he willingly fell on his back to catch her. 

“Nice!” he laughed as his arm caught her waist. “Not bad at all, Commander Stark.”

Arya studied his face as he glanced down upon her. Sweat had formed on his forehead, which she mindlessly wiped with her fingers, making the man swallow a bit. 

“Hi.” she said stupidly.

“Hello.” he answered. 

Arya doesn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her and Jaime ended up sitting in the same position that he caught her. Her hand never left his face, and she settled her palm on his jaw.

‘Focus.’ she told herself again. ‘Win.’ 

Very slowly, Arya closed the gap between them and gently placed her lips on his again.

She felt his hand tighten slightly on her waist when their mouths met and she reluctantly lifted from him.

‘Why pull away if you don’t want to?’ a voice inside her asked. ‘Focus. Win. Wonder. Excitement. Here. This is where you are, so be here.’ 

So she kissed him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

On the fourth attempt, Jaime’s mouth opened slightly, and the tip of his tongue grazed her lower lip.

Without thinking--at all, Arya opened her mouth further to encourage his explorations. Her small hand pulled his face closer to hers, asking for more. 

Jaime didn’t need further encouragement after that. Within a moment, a free hand gently wrapped around her neck to steady her jaw as his tongue fully entered her mouth. 

He explored her carefully, and this time, she liked that he was careful. His tongue was soft, long and gentle inside her mouth, and the thought of what they were doing sent unfamiliar flutters below her belly.

An involuntary moan escaped her throat and into Jaime’s own mouth when the hand down her waist moved to cup her backside. 

And then he stopped.

Arya wanted to protest, but Jaime just pressed his forehead against hers and shifted his position slightly, one of his hands stayed at her jaw and the other held one of her hands.

“We should go inside--I have a council…” Jaime started, his eyes still closed. 

“You didn’t--” Arya whispered sadly, eyes cast down. 

Upon hearing her tone, Jaime’s eyes flew open. “I didn’t what?”

“You didn’t like it. I have never kissed anyone like that before, or kissed anyone else for that matter and I don’t really know what I’m doing but I liked your open mouth on--” 

Jaime sought her lips for a small peck then. “Of course I liked it! What do you mean?” 

“Well then why did you stop?” she asked, and hated how whiny she sounded. 

Jaime held her jaw still, kissed her affectionately on the forehead and gathered her to stand with him. 

“If I didn’t--I truly wouldn’t have been able to stop.” Jaime reasoned sincerely. 

They both walked up to the castle hand in hand before they parted again for the day, and Arya truly didn’t know what in the seven hells he meant by his last statement. 

‘What kind of idiot would have asked him to stop?’ 

**Jaime II**

It’s been hours since Arya Stark allowed him to kiss her fully.

Several hours. 

Jaime reluctantly had to give her leave when they reached the indoors of the castle, he had his own steamy thoughts to quell. 

Nevermind that her soft mouth felt and tasted heavenly, or that her natural scent of winter flowers and workout perspiration highly intoxicating--but the sound she delivered his own greedy mouth--it was sinfully divine. 

She moaned inside his mouth. 

And now, many hours later--he still couldn’t quell his beastly thoughts about it. 

The looming moonlight threatened his discipline greatly--he still shared a chamber door to her room, and he struggled with himself to stay true to his promise. 

Only when she’s ready. 

‘She’s young. She’s inexperienced. You’ll frighten her again. Be careful.’

_“You didn’t like it…”_

The accusation made him grimace. 

How could he not like it? 

He was drowning in the memory and he’d gladly meet death for it.

Was this how he would die?

“OI!” Tyrion exclaimed from beside him. “Where are you?” 

“I’m right here, brother.” Jaime answered, utterly startled. 

Tyrion scoffed. “No you’re not. Neither is your wife apparently. You’re both entirely somewhere else and I don’t--” he sighed. “I need your signature on this for the Silverhill allowance…” 

“What Silverhill allowance?” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes then. “For the fortress construction? It was literally the whole purpose of the council this morning. We decided that we would add shelter bunkers--” 

“Oh.” Jaime answered. “Right.” 

Tyrion collected the signed papers and turned to leave him in wonder when Jaime decided to speak.

“What did you mean by, ‘she isn’t here either?’” Jaime asked. 

Tyrion smiled. “I just noted that she seemed quite--distracted when I had tea with her this afternoon, not her usual self.” 

“Did she seem--upset? Disappointed?” 

“Confused.” Tyrion answered confidently. “Curious.” 

“Curious?” 

Tyrion nodded. 

“Any maiden wife’s curiosity will be peaked if she came upon her ‘ _too handsome’_ husband on the shores of our glorious beach, brother.” 

Jaime reddened. “What are--how did--” 

Tyrion shook his head and chuckled. “She did not divulge that information with me, Jaime. But if you pay enough attention to the walls, they tend to talk. This castle will not seem as big as it is, truly.” 

“She saw me--this morning? What of it?” Jaime asked. “There was nothing noteworthy--I didn’t bathe on the shores to please her--”

“That’s why it probably did. You were being yourself. By the Gods, man! Which one of you is the maiden in this marriage?”

Jaime’s shirt seemed to have shrunk again, and he started tugging at the collar. “Is that all that you--” 

“Yes.” Tyrion responded truthfully. “Now, excuse me but I believe dinner will be served soon.” 

**=======**

“Lady Lannister asked--” The servant girl started.

“Lady Stark.” The Lannister brothers answered in unison at the dinner table. 

“She is the Lady of this House and my wife, but she kept her family name. If you have to address her formally, you may call her ‘Lady Arya.’ ” Jaime explained cordially. “What did the Lady of Casterly Rock ask of you, Marianne?” 

“She asked for some fruit slices and toast in the kitchen for dinner, and claimed that she wasn’t hungry.” the girl explained. “She has retired to your chambers early, sire.” 

Jaime bit his cheek and nodded. “Very well.” 

Tyrion raised a brow. “Thank you, Marianne. Our plates look lovely. That’s all.” 

Tyrion ate nonchalantly and paid no attention to Jaime who was lost in his thoughts again.

‘She can’t even come upon my sight for a meal. I must have really frightened her. Gods, what have I--wait a minute. It was she who kissed me. It was she who complained about me having to stop. It was she who said that she liked it. It was she who moaned into my mouth…’ 

Jaime groaned loudly. 

“I’m trying to enjoy my meal.” Tyrion quipped beside him. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” Jaime snapped. 

“That.” Tyrion answered as he sliced more chicken. “That pathetically handsome face of yours. Stop it.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “You know--” 

“What are you still doing here anyway?” 

Jaime shrugged. “I don’t…” 

“You’re not here. So go where you are.” 

**=======**

Jaime slowly walked up the stairs and passed the grand entrance to his master bedchamber to stop at the small door around the corner from it. 

Arya’s bedroom. 

Jaime coughed and fixed his posture before he poised his arm to knock. 

‘Knock and do what?’ he thought. ‘What will you ask of her? Will you tell her that you only want to talk? Do you really just want to talk? Will you be able to quell the memory of her delicious moan this morning if she did engage your invitation?’ 

Jaime sighed regretfully and slowly retreated from the door to retire to his own bedchamber. 

‘Good man.’ he thought to himself, although quite disheartened about it. ‘She will come to you when she’s ready.’ 

Jaime shut the double doors of his chambers behind him and leaned on the door for another heavy, dismayed sigh. 

‘You’re a Kingslayer.’ he told himself. ‘You’re no raper.’ 

“There you are.” a familiar voice greeted him from the window of his room. “I was waiting for you.” 

There she was. 

The woman that has haunted his thoughts deeply all day. 

Was it just all day? He couldn’t tell anymore. 

Arya’s hair was still a little wet as it lay loose on her shoulders. She wore that ivory robe from their wedding night and her little hands were tight on the ribbons up front as she approached him slowly. Her eyes were deviously confident as she seeked his own. 

**\-- XOXOXOXO --  
**  
 ** _From Meesh:  
_** Friendly reminder to leave me comments about what you just read,  
this is a long chapter and I’d really like to know what you liked/didn't like about the first part too.  
Steam Ahead. **  
**

**\-- XOXOXOXO --**

  
  
  
  


**Jaime & Arya**

“Hi.” he managed as his tall frame lifted from the door to greet her. 

“Hello.” she responded confidently. 

“You--did you need…” Jaime started. “Can I get you anything?” 

Arya shook her head and Jaime stilled his breath as he watched the firelight from the furnace lit her face gorgeously. “No.” 

“Alright.” he managed. 

‘Alright?’ he thought. ‘Really?’

“I wanted to--” Arya started before she bit her lip--the first sign of her hesitation which he didn’t seem to mind so much this time.

“I wanted to be here with you.” 

Jaime said nothing, and swallowed his own luck and disbelief. 

“Only if that’s--only if you want to, of course--” she continued. 

“No!” Jaime answered quickly, then wanted to stab himself. “No, I meant--please. I--I want you to stay. I would love nothing more. I’ve said before--this is our chambers, and I meant that.”

Arya remained planted where she stood, confidence from her earlier approach rapidly fading. 

“It’s alright--I…” 

“Please stay.” Jaime managed. “I want--I would love it if you stayed.” 

Arya met his gaze again, and smiled up at him.

Jaime’s own confidence was restored immediately.

“We could sit by the window, if you like--the lighthouse and moonlight can still give us a bit of the view of the ocean at night--” 

“I have the same view inside my chamber.” Arya reasoned as she approached his bed. “If it’s alright with you--I’d rather be comfortable here.” 

Jaime watched as she slowly took off her white silk bedroom slippers and climbed on his bed to lean on the gold threaded headboard. 

“Arya--I…”

“Changed your mind, My Lord?” she asked with a slight, intentional pout.

Jaime huffed. “What? Don’t call me--” 

Arya smiled up at him playfully, making her teasing known.

They were able to share a brief laugh before Jaime’s face turned serious again as his eyes devoured her form on their bed. 

“Will you not join me?” Arya asked again. 

_‘Remember, he’s probably just as nervous as you are.’ Septa Galayne’s voice whispered from her head. ‘Assure him.’_

Jaime swallowed. “Arya--I don’t know if I could--what if I--” 

Arya lifted her chin and drew out a soft palm to beckon him to come near her. “Jaime--you won’t hurt me. I know you won’t.” 

Jaime nodded then and took her hand in his before he sat down beside her. 

“Am I on your side?” Arya asked. “Of the bed, I mean.” 

Jaime shook his head. “I’m not too keen on sides. Though I do favor the right.” 

“And I favor the left.” She chirped. “You know, both you and my brother Jon favor the right side.” 

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “How did--did you share a bed…”

Arya nodded nonchalantly. “Many times. It was often because--I would be upset about Sansa or my mother--or my stupid lessons. Jon would be the only one who would listen to me there. So I would sneak out once everyone had gone to bed and let him hold me as I cried myself to sleep. Robb grew up to be far too busy and lordly, and my younger brothers were too young to understand anything. Jon and I were always the outcasts and often subject to my mother’s wrath and we truly bonded over that. I wonder what kind of life he’s been living at the wall. Probably filled with all sorts of adventures.”

Arya pondered excitedly for her brother but she felt her husband slightly still beside her. 

“I’m sorry. I tend to talk too much when I’m nervous.” She whispered, her small hand still clasped in his.”You and I haven’t really talked much since--” 

“It’s alright, I like it when you talk.” Jaime answered in half-truth. “I--I like being in your company. But why are you--why are you nervous?”

“I don’t know…” she lied.

Jaime nodded. “It’s alright, I don’t know why I am either.” 

Arya turned her body completely to face him then, and he met her eyes.

“Uhm--Jaime?” she asked before she seeked his eyes. “I--”  
  
“Hmm?” he asked as he turned to face her. 

“I don’t know how to--how to say…” 

Jaime touched her chin with a forefinger. “Tell me. It’s alright.” 

Arya sighed. 

‘Just tell him what you want.’ her septa’s voice muttered in her head again.

“Could I--” Arya’s hands seemed to have moved before her own words. “I want to--I want to see. Is that alright? I want to--I want to look at you.” she continued as her hands unbuttoned his shirt.

‘This.’ Jaime thought as her hands nimbly worked on his buttons from chest to to belly. ‘This is exactly how I would die.’

“Jaime?” she asked again, her lower lip teasing between her teeth. “If you don’t--”

“It’s--yes. Yes, it’s alright.” he managed to answer before he slowly took his arms out of his shirt completely.

Arya moved to sit in front of him on the bed and her eyes roamed curiously all over his body. The flickering lights from the furnace accentuated every tight and perfectly chiseled muscle on his torso--it was absolutely much more breathtaking up close. 

Jaime began to take deep breaths as he physically felt her eyes roam about his naked form. 

‘Remember, she only wants to look.’ he told himself. ‘Don’t move until she says the words, keep your promise.’

‘Let her lead.’ 

It took every ounce of his discipline to not reach for her face when Arya bit her bottom lip as she stared him down. He wanted to first use his thumb to release her soft, delicious mouth from her gentle teeth and then take them against his own to devour completely. 

‘Easy, Lannister.’ 

Jaime hissed when Arya raised one of her hands to explore, halting the latter’s movement. 

“I’m sorry--I just…” she started. 

‘Don’t apologize. Just tell him what you want.’ said the voice inside her head. 

“I want to--I want to touch you.” Arya declared. 

Before Jaime could respond, her fingertips gently landed upon his chest. 

Jaime took several deep breaths before he leaned back, keen to keep his hands on the sides.

It took a moment, but once she felt him relax, she continued her explorations with his body. 

Jaime allowed her ministrations, her touch was more soothing though it did nothing to quell his thoughts within. Her fingers were sweet, a bit cool and comforting to counter the heat that seemed to have overtaken the chambers. 

“Jaime?” she called after sometime as her hand settled in the middle of his chest. 

“Ye--Yes?” 

‘Tell him what you like.’ said Septa Galayne. ‘He would love to hear it.’ 

“I like--I like your body.” she declared without meeting his eyes. “I like the way you look--a lot. I like the shape of your muscles--especially here.” she firmed her grip on his arm. “Here.” she continued when she dragged the same soft hand down to his abdomen.

“And here.” she gripped the perfectly shaped adonis muscle on his pelvis.

Jaime hissed again. 

But Arya didn’t withdraw her hand. 

‘Nevermind.’ Jaime thought when he met her devious, determined gaze. ‘This is how I would die. What sweet glorious death it would be.’

A new, brazen mood overcame Arya’s senses when Jaime hissed out loud last time. Suddenly no part of her was intimidated. No part of her was daunted. The thought that her mere touch elicited such a glorious sound from the beautiful man in front of her was quite empowering. 

“Jaime?” she called again, and it was not a whisper this time, as her fingers snuck inside the waistband of his trousers. 

“Arya--I…” Jaime started, leaning forward from the board. “I--”  
  
“I want to see.” She declared, voice low. “I want to see you.” 

Jaime inhaled deeply again as Arya’s eyes wandered down to the humble tent that started to form on his lap. He watched her swallow mischievously. 

‘Careful, Lannister.’ 

“Arya--are you certain…” he started. 

She turned to meet his gaze bravely again. 

“You can see me too.” she declared before she bent her knee beside his resting hand. “As my husband--it is yours.” she continued before she placed his free palm to grasp her small ankle.

‘Annnnd--I’m dead.’ Jaime thought. ‘I am deceased. Happily deceased.’ 

Jaime swallowed when Arya sat up and unlaced her robe and discarded it deftly, then gracefully bent down by his palm to gather the hem of her shift from her ankle and freed herself from it as well. 

Her breasts were free of small clothes.

Jaime feasted on the sight of her full, creamy bosoms, and much like her eyes reflected pride and confidence, her small rosy peaks jutted to greet him as well. 

Arya paused for a bit as she watched Jaime struggle within himself. It almost made her laugh, until her eye caught a slight movement from the tent that formed inside his breeches. 

“Ar--Arya--I…” he whispered huskily when she curiously placed her hand on top of the movement. 

“It’s--you’re hard.” she noted. “Does it hurt?” 

Jaime couldn’t muster a response, he instead unconsciously firmed his lax grip on her ankle, making her gasp.

Arya watched his inner struggle increase by the minute, a single vein on the side of his forehead started to be visible. She withdrew her hand then, but immediately noted the dismayed relief that passed his expression. 

“I just don’t want--” Jaime started, though his thumb started to draw circles on her leg. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I---” 

‘You’re brave.’ Arya thought before her lips formed a thin, determined line. ‘Win.’ 

Arya closed the gap between them and sought Jaime’s mouth, who immediately placed his hands on her waist. Their tongues danced slowly before that involuntary sound emitted from her throat again, eliciting a groan from her husband.

‘That.’ Jaime thought. ‘That sound.’ 

“I’m not afraid of pain.” Arya confessed as she tugged the waistband of her bottom clothes swiftly down her legs and returned to his mouth. “I can’t be a warrior and run from the thought pain.” 

‘Let her lead, Lannister.’ Jaime thought as the discipline inside of him began to fade. ‘Not until she says the words.’ 

‘Tell him what you like.’   
‘Tell him what you want.’ 

“I like kissing you.” she whispered on top of his lips. “I could get lost and never return when I kiss you.” 

Jaime groaned inside her mouth when she hitched his palm further up her thigh. 

“Arya…” 

“I want you to be my husband tonight Jaime.” she declared when he opened her eyes to meet hers. “Will you? Will you be my husband tonight?” 

‘Every bloody night for the rest of my sinful days.’ 

Arya gasped when Jaime sat upright from the board, his tongue still twirled inside her mouth, he gently lifted both sides of her hips and carried her masterfully to the edge of the bed. 

“I want--I want to see you..” Arya muttered when he stood on his feet as her own legs dangled on the side, she had herself raised on her elbows. 

“Later.” he answered confidently before he situated himself between her legs on his knees. 

“You asked for a husband--” 

“I asked _you_ to be my husband.” Arya clarified. “You are my husband.” 

Arya watched his jaw clench with brazen pride, much like the lion sigil that hung on the wall at the back of his head. 

“Say it again.” he whispered as he hitched her leg on his shoulder and trailed small kisses up her knee. 

“My husband.” she answered, mesmerized by the heat that his lips granted her. 

“Again, Arya.” he asked, when his mouth reached her inner thigh.   
  
“My--husb--” Arya tried to answer but was shocked when Jaime’s tongue darted out to lick the pink of her slit. 

Her mother, Sansa, and Septa Galayne talked to her about many tedious, scary things regarding the bedding. 

They didn’t say anything about this!

She had some memory of Joffrey and Sansa from the past, but the stupid prince looked vile, disgusting and somewhat stupid about it. 

Her husband--looked like a beautiful lion, eager to enjoy his newly captured prey. 

“Have you always kept yourself bare?” Jaime asked as he continued to lick her slit open, trying to reveal the nub that was shyly hiding inside the folds of her smooth, shaven flesh.

Arya nodded as though he could see. “Ye--yes. I just never liked--Jaime, what--what are you…” 

Jaime looked up at her and smirked before spending some spit to coat her folds. Arya watched in awe as the liquid slowly dropped from his lower lip to her cunt, it made her feel--like captured prey.

But it made her feel deviously wicked.

“Being your husband.” he answered huskily before returning to his ministrations. “I’m preparing you for me. Watch me, Arya. Watch me be your husband.” 

Jaime inhaled sharply before placing Arya’s feet to lay flat on his shoulders before he granted himself another lick. Arya’s taste was divine and heavenly, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

‘A maiden. A maiden’s taste. Never tasted by another--only mine.’

‘Mine.’

“Jaime--it feels…” Arya moaned, not shying from watching him as he kissed her cunt possessively, lovingly. She bit her lip when she felt him insert one of his fingers inside her hole. 

“So good--Jaime--don’t stop.” Arya whispered, her hips moved on their own accord to meet his eager mouth. “Don’t stop…”

An overwhelming sensation began to overtake her senses shortly and suddenly, she felt uncertain. Jaime must’ve felt her unease, because he lifted her by the ass and steadied his tongue on her folds. “It’s alright, Arya--let go.” 

The lion in Jaime roared when Arya convulsed on his tongue, screaming his name loud enough for the entire castle to hear.

Jaime eased her down and sought her mouth, which she granted without hesitation.

“That was--” Arya started. “I didn’t know--a husband came with that!” 

Jaime laughed. “This husband does.” 

Arya smiled up at him beautifully, the afterglow of her pleasure seemed to have highlighted her gorgeous facial features underneath him, and Jaime couldn’t have been more grateful for the moment that he was granted. 

“My husband.” she whispered, before propping herself back to the middle of the bed. “Am I fit to see you now?” 

Jaime swallowed but nodded as he moved towards her. “Yes.” 

Arya watched as he removed his breeches deftly, never leaving her face to watch out for any hesitation to cross her face. 

She was determined to give him none.

“If--if at any point, you wish for me to stop…” Jaime started. “Say the words, and I will--” 

“I know, Jaime.” Arya answered as she gripped his shaft. “But I won’t.” 

Arya felt him inhale deeply as her fingers played on his skin. “It’s---you are… You’re big. The length is just past your navel…” 

Jaime nodded. “It’s because--it’s hard--” 

He allowed her to discover him further, no matter how much her light touches were torturing him.

“Jaime--how… Show me…” She asked, her palm clumsy on his shaft. 

Jaime gripped her hand over his cock and showed her how to hold him. Just like swordplay, Arya picked up the pace quite easily, gently--but nonetheless satisfying. 

“Jaime--” Arya asked, her eyes not leaving his shaft. 

“Yes?” he moaned as he dripped on her hand. 

“Will you finish by my hand--or will you truly be my husband tonight?” 

With all the fiber of his discipline faded into his lust, Jaime roared again and he moved on top of her. Arya spread her legs willingly under him and watched deviously as he rubbed the tip of his cock on her sensitive nub. 

“I like the way that feels too.” Arya whispered softly. 

“If I hurt you--” Jaime started.

“You won’t stop.” she answered confidently as she eased herself lower. “I won’t let you.” 

After a bit of adjusting Jaime carefully sheathed himself inside of her, careful to watch her expression with every inch.

Arya’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ once he breached her maidenhead, and her wince made him hesitate.

“Arya--”

Her soft hands pulled him towards her, and she placed both of her hands on his jaw. “You’re not even halfway in…” she noted. 

“We can stop--”

“No.” she retorted and she raised herself up to meet his mouth as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I want you--all of you."

"Kiss me, Jaime please. Don't stop."

Arya was unbelievably tight, and really wet. She held onto his neck tightly, and Jaime didn’t miss cupping her bosoms as they met his own naked chest while he moved inside of her. 

Just as soon as the pain came, it was gone--and the sound of Jaime’s moans and their sexes slopping together started another wave of lustful pleasure within her. 

“I’m going to…” Jaime whispered. “I’m going to--” 

His thrusts became unsteady, but Arya enjoyed a final twitch inside of her before she felt a warm, generous spill within her womb. 

As Jaime softened between her legs she clasped his jaw and he pressed his forehead onto hers, breathing deeply as they fell into each other’s arms. 

**Tyrion**

It has been a little bit over the moon since the evening that he encouraged his brother to go wherever his mind was. 

Jaime hasn’t returned since. 

And Tyrion could not be happier for his brother. 

There was the inconvenience of having to hold council because the Lord decided to stay in bed all day--and certain obvious noises of pleasure could be heard from the hallways of the castle, and one time late at night in the kitchens, but nonetheless he was happy for Jaime. 

Arya was not only a good woman--she’s likely the best, most clever of them all. It was proven within days of her move to Casterly Rock, over certain conversations in which he was effortlessly outwitted. Cyvasse became her favorite pastime to enjoy with him, and she was eager, most importantly sincere about her friendship with him. It was easy then, to divulge certain subjects which he never spoke about openly--such as his family, who lived just on the outskirts of downtown. 

_“You’re not allowed to marry her because she’s a commoner?” Arya scoffed. “You do love her, don’t you? Otherwise you’d have taken another bride…”_

_“And what ‘bride’ would want to be with me, Lady Stark? The Imp of Casterly Rock…”_

_“If you want an indomitable reply, here it is; You’re still a Lannister. Son of the richest hold in the Kingdom, The Queen’s brother.” Arya answered. “Any stupid lady from a social climber house would be desperate to have you just because of those things.”_

_Tyrion shrugged. “I suppose I’ll grant you that--”_

_“And any woman with half a brain would recognize that you are also one of the wisest, kindest, most honest of men--traits that aren’t at all common in rich lords.” Arya continued. “Best of luck finding a lady with a quarter brain, though. Lots are idiots, much like my sister. In your case, however; you seem to love the mother of your children, and I wish you were free to be with her.”_

It was a special day when his children were invited to dine with Jaime and Arya at the castle. Tyna and Shane were aware that he was their father, as he stayed with his family two days a week, but he never thought the day would come when they would be welcome at the table. 

All because of Lady Stark’s invitation. 

Shae is still hesitant about joining their regular lunches at the castle but was open to hosting Arya at their humble home should she decide to visit.

It wasn’t at all difficult to unveil Arya’s affinity for bastards, she spoke a lot about the North and how much she loved her brother, Jon Snow. Which is the high reason why she wanted to make sure that his own children would always feel included in her home. 

_“I will not be my mother.” she muttered with great determination._

“Pardon, my lord.” announced Ser Mikhail as he came upon him by the Lion’s Mouth. “News from Pink Maiden--your package from the North has just passed the town with the specific enforcements confirmed.” 

“Very well, they should arrive at the castle gates by this afternoon.” Tyrion smiled heartily. It was time for him to return Lady Arya’s unwarranted kindness and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

“And The Lord and Lady of the House?” 

“Lord Jaime and Lady Arya went on their daily morning shore walk as scheduled, but as the Lady has been unwell for several days, she’s retired to her chambers shortly after. She’s even remarkably skipped her lesson with Master Forel this morning and chose to stay in bed, I am told. She’s a bit overwhelmed for the preparations of their proper wedding next week, I’m guessing. Lord Jaime spent the day at the barracks to train some men.” 

“Thank you, Ser Mikhail. That is all.” Tyrion nodded and the knight went off. 

Tyrion smiled to himself excitedly--for in just a couple of hours, his wedding present for his good sister will be marching inside the castle walls. 

Grown Godswood trees from the woods of Winterfell to plant--

Delivered by her favorite brother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Comments are forever life: It makes me decide which story to work on next. So please, leave me comments!**
> 
> 1\. I debated using Tysha as Tyrion's mistress instead of Shae--but chose the latter instead because I actually saw her on the show.
> 
> 2\. And the Dragonwolf has arrived! How do ya'll think Jaime would feel about Jon's arrival? 
> 
> 3\. After Chapter II: Part 4, I am thinking of adding a bonus chapter with various POVs--significant visitors to Casterly Rock. 
> 
> 4\. The Eastern Threat is very real--it is coming! But the dragons are still growing and we got time!
> 
> 5\. Please don't worry about the timeskip after Jaime and Arya consummated their marriage! We will revisit it in the next chapter. I hope you guys are having fun at The Rock with me! I really worked hard on it.
> 
> PS: Someone suggested that I should post my stories on Fanfiction and an app called Wattpad. Any thoughts about this? 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: **MischaPetrovna**
> 
> As always, I love you guys.
> 
> Meesh <3


	5. Chapter II: Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Casterly Rock.

**Jaime**

Arya’s soft lingering lips on the square of his jaw awakened his senses as the morning light seeped inside their chambers. 

For a little more than a moon, now--Jaime has had the privilege of having Arya as a wife for true, and they have not spent one night apart from each other. He felt like he was living some impossible dream--as if the life he lived before he took her as his own betrothed was some godforsaken nightmare and long forgotten. 

Still, he couldn’t be more grateful for the stark difference of the intimacy that he now shared with his wife, and the overall growth in his own life. While Jaime couldn’t get enough of their couplings, he also enjoyed all their conversations, laughter and banters in between. Arya always asked him about his trip across the sea with great interest, and expressed wishes to sail it one day with him--not once daunted by the growing dragonlings that he had seen before his own eyes, nor tales of the young dragon queen who was building an army to take back her ‘rightful’ place in the seven kingdoms. 

_“She sounds terribly misguided--or just downright stupid.” Arya noted as her soft fingers touched the muscles on his abdomen. “Essos sounds like a beautiful country on its own, and from what you’ve told me--they seem to worship and love her. She should build her kingdom there and be rid of the petty boring squabbles that the nobles here immerse themselves in.”_

_“Maybe she just wants to avenge the death of her father.” Jaime responded grimly, eyes pasted on the ceiling. For a long time, he wanted someone--anyone to ask him why he’d done it. Why he chose to gain his infamous title. Did Arya know that her own father declared him guilty without giving him a chance to explain? Did she understand why her father would’ve done almost everything in his power to have halted their union because he was disgusted by Jaime’s sole act of rebellion? Had it not been for her own declaration of acceptance, Jaime didn’t doubt that Ned Stark would’ve started a war to ‘spare’ his favorite daughter from the Kingslayer._

_It would’ve been too easy--hells, he would’ve started his own war if the woman in his arms ever cried again because of a careless matrimonial prospect that would’ve subjected her to a subpar life._

_“And what would she gain after that?” Arya countered while her forefinger teased down the valley of his navel, making him inhale sharply. “Seven quarreling and untrustworthy kingdoms that would love nothing more than to dethrone her again? Don’t mistake me--I don’t undermine her abilities, she has afterall built quite a following, and dragons at her disposal, as you’ve said. However, if she would indeed gamble everything that she already has in her hands in order to avenge a father she never knew, to rule a country that she’s never stepped foot on--she’s no more mad and unhinged like her father had been.”_

_As Arya spoke, her fingers started fiddling with the patch of hair in his groin mindlessly._

_“I know what they call you, Jaime.” Arya whispered. “And I know how it makes you feel.”_

_Jaime swallowed and remained silent, rubbing her naked arms as she remained sprawled across his body._

_“I also know what I call you, who you are to me, and how it makes you feel.” she continued before she slid a leg across to sit on top of his resting form._

_“My husband.” she whispered before she kissed his lips._

Jaime wanted to tell her everything, everything about the title he gained before she was even born, but they lived in pure bliss at the moment and he wanted a moment to bask in the beauty of it all. 

He loved their new routine of walking the shore after breaking fast in the morning. It was Arya who reached for his hand on their first stroll and rested her head on his shoulder as their bare feet grazed the golden sand. He loved that she would kiss him on the mouth unashamedly before they parted for the day-for her lessons and him to his duties, it made him long to return to her almost immediately but fueled him enough to be at his most productive at work. 

With Cersei, who he hardly spared a thought of now--he was a dirty, sinful, secret who only got passionate affectations in the dark corners of the castle, in the devious hours of the night. But his bride, his wife--made him feel so seen and proud during all hours of every day--that for just a little over a week after their first time together, she surprised him at the training grounds with her septa as he sparred with some of his new recruits for training. Arya playfully challenged him to a match, which he happily accepted to the fascination of nearby folk who seemed to enjoy their exchange. 

When she yielded after the second match, she surprised him further by pulling him down to her mouth by the nape for an affectionate kiss, much to the delight and shock of the small crowd who witnessed it.

 _“Come home soon.” she whispered in his ear when she parted from him and walked away._

And did he ever. 

“You like doing that, don’t you?” Jaime whispered as her lips ghosted his cheek. 

Arya bit her lip shyly before she rested her head on his shoulder again. 

“No need to shy away, Lady Stark.” Jaime teased before kissing her head. “I like it when you do.”

“I’m not shy.” Arya responded firmly, almost defensively before she gathered her robe by the foot of the bed. “I am a bit hungry, though.” 

Jaime chuckled before he rubbed the small of her back. Arya turned to him and smirked encouragingly. 

“Perhaps I could show you how not-so-shy I am after our walk?” she teased.

Jaime got up with her and shook his head. “Perhaps you could after you could after you finally see the maester?” 

Arya raised a brow stubbornly. “He won’t be able to tell me anything I don’t already know, Jaime. I’ve just been skipping too many meals and keeping to your bed, that would take a toll on any healthy warrior’s body.” 

For the past several days, Arya had been feeling uncharacteristically exhausted and overly sensitive with regards to smell. Just two days before, she retched as soon as Ser Bronn removed his gloves to attend council. 

_“Gods, that’s horrible!” Arya exclaimed. “Is that fish?”_

_“Pardon--my lady--I was indeed mixing fish bait this morning… But I did wash my hands--” Bronn replied uselessly, for his wife had already ran to the nearest water basin to empty her stomach._

“ _Our bed,_ Arya.” Jaime started as he tied his breeches. “I’m sure you are healthy, but I’d just be easier once the maester confirms that everything is fine, that’s all…” 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Of course you would! You won’t be subjected to drinking useless herbal concoctions.” 

Jaime looked at her pleadingly.

“Fine.” Arya resigned. “After my lessons with Syrio.” 

**=======**

“I was told that she’s remained in her rooms since meeting with Maester Creylen.” Podrick informed him as he dismounted his steed at the stables. “She didn’t meet with the instructor today--though, curiously--he never showed up either.” 

Jaime felt his insides pale. Arya usually liked to remain active and engaged but during their walk this morning she had asked to stop early--a mile short of their usual routine. She hardly touched the main course of their fast as well, opting to feast on the grapes and melon slices on her plate. 

“Did the maester elaborate on her condition?” Jaime asked as they walked through the back gate. 

Podrick shook his head. “Not to anyone but her ladyship.” 

Jaime’s lips formed a thin line, a faint worry started to numb his fingers. He feared that the moon tea she had been given since their coupling was too strong, Arya hardly really even touched it during fasts and never consumed more than a sip. 

“Ser Podrick, if you could inform my brother that myself and Lady Stark would be dining in our chamber this evening, I would gladly appreciate it. She must be awfully ill if she chose to skip her lessons today.” 

“Gladly, My Lord--but your brother is on our way.” Podrick noted as he pointed at Tyrion, who seemed to be directing the staff as unfamiliar carts were being unloaded in front of the castle. 

“Right at the back, closer to the wood entrance! We will figure gates and landscaping later!” Tyrion called out. 

“Oi, brother! What is this?” Jaime asked curiously after nodding curtly at the men who unloaded familiar trees. 

“My wedding present to my favorite good sister.” Tyrion answered distractedly. “And I suppose, my favorite big brother as well.” he added sarcastically. 

“Are these what I think--” 

“Godswood trees, brother.” Tyrion answered. “During one of my many conversations with Lady Stark, she has noted missing these from her home. I thought it would be a homely touch to have some by the vast garden--that she could visit whenever she missed the North.”

Jaime smiled wholeheartedly. “She would absolutely love this. You are brilliant!"

He was briefly taken back to two years past, when a smaller girl smiled widely at him after he presented her with a wooden sword and stole an innocent kiss upon his lips underneath the very same sacred trees. 

“We didn’t get the ones from inside Winterfell’s walls--but Lord Robb was kind enough to send some men to root the younger ones from the nearby woods that we could replant here. He will be present at your formal wedding, as well as the Lord and Lady Stark, but sends regrets for all the younger siblings--except for one.” 

“I didn’t think Sansa would make it--isn’t she en route to Highgarden?” Jaime laughed. “In fact I don’t think Arya would mind her absence at all…” 

“Actually, Jaime--upon my own personal invitation and as a surprise to Lady Arya---” 

“Jon?” Arya’s small voice greeted from the door. 

The name sent a familiar, uncomfortable chill down Jaime’s spine as he turned around to come face to face with Ned Stark’s bastard, who seemed to have walked out of the shadows of one of the main caravans. 

Jaime watched as his wife slowly approached her natural brother, their eyes seemingly locked. The boy remained planted where he stood, dressed in all black leather, Ned Stark’s image strong in his features. 

“Is it--it’s you.” Arya whispered softly as she walked past Jaime, which irked him greatly, for his wife usually greeted him with a kiss whenever he arrived home after she did. 

At the moment however, it seemed like she didn’t even notice anyone else but the bastard.

A small flicker of annoyance started to form inside his chest. 

The boy nodded knowingly, his face unreadable and his gaze never left her face. 

“Of course it’s me.” he answered her softly before granting her a small, sad smile. “Little sister.” 

With a happy sob, Arya ran up to the boy’s open arms and they hugged each other fiercely, heads buried in each other’s neck, eyes closed in both grief and relief upon being reunited.

“Surprise, Lady Stark!” Tyrion exclaimed from beside Jaime after some moments. “This is one of your wedding day presents.” he continued as he motioned to the men who continued to carry the young trees from the carts. 

Arya laughed heartily as Jon released his hold and set her down, only for her to take herself in his arm. “Tyrion--I don’t think I’d be able to express how happy you’ve made me!”

“In fact,” she added as she twined her hand in Jon’s. “This might easily be the happiest day of my life…” 

Jaime’s jaw clenched--strongly enough that it made a faint sound as his own brows furrowed. 

“Jon--you’ve met my--Lord Lannister.” Arya started as she took the boy to present to him.

‘Lord? LORD Lannister?’ he thought angrily. 

“Lord Lannister,” the boy nodded at him solemnly. “Allow me to--express my congratulations.” 

Jaime managed a smirk. “A raven would have sufficed, Snow--nonetheless, welcome to Casterly Rock.”

It was instant, how Arya’s earlier glow dimmed from her face, just shortly after she got her color back from her paleness in the morn. Jaime almost regretted his natural snide.

“But accept my gratitude for your greetings and presence all the same.” Jaime attempted to recover bitterly. 

Arya didn’t seem to buy it, her eyebrows met and an unpleasant expression crossed her features as she raised a curious eyebrow at him.

“Jon--dine with us tonight.” Tyrion offered. “I situated your chambers right across the hall from mine…” 

The boy shook his head. “That’s quite generous of you, My Lord. But I should situate myself rightfully with our small retinue by the assigned quarters near the barracks--” 

“Nonsense, Jon!” complained Arya. “You’d be closer to me this way. I haven’t seen you in a long time and I’d like to show you Casterly Rock in the morn as soon as we break fast and see that the trees are planted. You can meet Syrio! You’ll see how well I wield ‘Needle’ now...” 

The boy smiled at her shyly and boldly tucked a loose curl from her forehead under her ear. He slowly seeked Jaime’s own eyes as if to ask him for permission. 

‘Ah for the love of the seven fucking Gods.’ Jaime thought. 

“As the brother of the _Lady of Casterly Rock._ ” Jaime declared with emphasis on his wife’s title. “I suppose that your rightful place is in the castle, where my brother has arranged your rooms.” 

Jon nodded gratefully. “Thank you for your generosity, My Lord.”

Jaime seeked Arya’s eyes then--wanting to see her reaction to his response. But she avoided his glance and the firmness in her expression remained. 

“Right.” Tyrion noted. “Why don’t we all gather inside and take some time to rest before dinner--”

“I’m afraid that my presence is needed at Kayce tonight, brother.” Jaime declared firmly. “Accept my deepest regrets for not being able to join you this evening.” 

“But--you just asked me to--” Podrick started to reason before Jaime shot him a glare. 

“What business do we have with Kayce that’s so pressing?” Tyrion asked suspiciously. “Their matters aren't on the schedule until council next week.” 

“A personal matter--regarding the eastern threat.” Jaime lied. “We can discuss it in the morning. Ser Pod--you’re coming with me.” 

**Arya**

Waking up in Jaime’s arms each morning (and later into the noon on days without council obligation) and watching him in deep slumber for a few moments was something that Arya began to look forward to since she’s become his wife for true. 

She vividly recalled their very first evening together, memory fresh in her mind--for Jaime’s gentleness in their couplings have started to wane just a bit--at her own request as of late. 

_“Are you not--sore?” He asked gently, moments after he took her. “Did I hurt you badly?’_

_Arya shook her head. “It feels a bit tender, but I’m alright. I’ve bled before.”_

_Jaime’s sword hand rested on her cheek as she lay peacefully on his shoulder. “This is not some scrape on your knees, or a deep gash on your elbows and arms, Commander Stark. This is your maiden blood…”_

_Arya felt a furl in her stomach as Jaime’s gaze left her eyes to study the sticky juices between her thighs, both hers and his--with a slight tinge of blood that stained his white sheets. The way he said ‘maiden blood’ was so deep and full of pride that it made her feel inexplicably warm inside._

_“I’m not as fragile as you may think.” she whispered defensively._

_“Indeed you are not.” he agreed._

_“Do you--like drawing blood?” Arya asked innocently. “Do you find it--enticing?”_

_“When I fight?” Jaime asked, seemingly confused._

_Arya raised a brow. “Have you deflowered many maidens before?”_

_Jaime stilled beside her, then smirked. “Arya--”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m not stupid--you were a man grown before I could even walk, Jaime.” Arya reasoned gently. “It is only natural for you to have had a life before me. I imagine countless women before you joined the Kingsguard...”_

_Jaime moved his arm to the ball of her shoulder and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought and silence kept them company for sometime._

_“Jaime? Have you--”_

_“Arya--I don’t-”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I only asked because-I likely have many bodies that you could compare me to--”_

_“You do not.” he answered firmly, truthfully._

_“Now that you’ve taken me--how will I know…” Arya wanted to continue, but she felt him distance himself further and further at her insistence._

_“Jaime…”_

_He didn’t answer but continued to rub her shoulder underneath him._

_Arya bit her lip before proceeding carefully. “Did you--Did you like taking me?”_

_Underneath her cheek, she felt him return as his breathing slowed._

_“Yes.” he whispered._

_“What did you like about it?” she furthered._

_Jaime took a moment to respond as she started to caress his hip. “What’s not to like?”_

_“In particular, I liked--” Arya started, careful to only tell him truths and not what he would like to hear, as Septa Galayne warned. Her mentor insisted that everything Sansa said about ‘pleasuring her husband’ was ridiculous and false, and would likely lead to her own dissatisfaction._

_‘Don’t say anything that’s untrue.’ Septa Galayne warned her. ‘Especially if you’re telling him what you like. Say it exactly how you mean it.’_

_“I really liked it when you kissed me--there.” she declared bravely. “I like it any time you kiss me but--between my--I felt your entire mouth and I couldn’t even think of anything else. I might’ve forgotten my own name for a moment.”_

_Jaime’s heart raced in his chest and she felt every beat--Arya soon realized however, that her own heart followed his pace as soon as she said the words._

_“I can’t explain it--but seeing you lick me..” Arya paused, suddenly feeling a slight tingle down the side of her neck. “It’s like watching you lick the juiciest slice of watermelon of the season before taking it between your teeth--”_

_Jaime stopped rubbing her arm then, his breaths getting heavier._

_“I liked when you touched me, too--when you put your finger inside… It prepared me for--” Arya continued, not missing his hardening shaft under her arm as she continued to fiddle with his abs._

_“I felt stretched--for a little bit--but I was so wet with your--tongue, that it felt more slippery than uncomfortable.” Arya continued to speak, though at this point she no longer knew if it was to assure her husband or to feed the fire that was furling under her navel again. “After a while, I really--I really started to like that you were moving inside of me…”_

_“Arya--” Jaime whispered, voice hoarse, almost pleading. “Why are you telling me--”_

_“I want you to tell me what you like...” she answered. “Did you like drawing blood-”_

_Arya paused and thought carefully._

_“Did you like drawing my blood?” she asked instead. “Did you like being inside of me?”_

_‘Say it exactly how you mean it.’_

_Arya paused and then seeked his eyes bravely._

_“Did you like fucking me, Jaime?”_

_Jaime’s grip on her shoulder answered her insistent query. Not that she needed to feel further, because Jaime’s cock hardened at full staff underneath them._

_Arya slowly gripped his cock again, earning a gorgeous hiss from his lips, which she took upon hers gently, though he answered her feverishly, with miraculous restraint._

_“Arya--are you…” Jaime asked hesitantly before he moaned as he dripped on her hand once again. “I thought you’d want to wait--”_

_“I liked it too--” she muttered truthfully. “I liked it when you fucked me.”_

With a frustrated and hungry growl, Jaime took her two more times that night. She might not have ‘felt good’ by just his cock alone, at least just then, but before the late morning she was met with a happy wife’s pleasure four times before they finally left the chambers. 

**=======**

“We’re in the privacy of your own chambers, My lady.” Septa Galayne noted as she continued her stitches. “You may speak here, or you could continue moping as if I don’t know what’s bothering you.” 

“I’m not moping.” Arya answered defensively. “I’m bored. A trip to the marketplace with Tyrion can’t have taken this long. I miss Jon.” 

It’s been four days since Jon arrived at her new home, and they have spent their every waking moment together. With the exception of this particular morning, for Syrio requested utmost privacy during their water dancing meditation practice, Jon accompanied her to her lessons, they had all their meals together, talked all day at the beach and by the Godswood as the trees were being replanted, they even spent one afternoon with Tyrion and his family, including Shae, and they simply adored him as much as she did. 

Well, almost. 

No one could adore Jon more than she did. 

“Of course you missed your brother. You have never been apart this long, and he is your heart and your dearest friend.” Galayne responded without seeking her eyes. “But who you miss right this second--hmm… that’s definitely a puzzle.” 

Arya fiddled with her tunic to change and got frustrated with the buttons before tossing it away. Since being made aware of her condition, she began to notice how everything she owned seemed too inadequate for her to wear. 

“I don’t miss him.” Arya spat. 

“Of course you miss Lord Berry Tart.” Galayne teased.

“No I don’t!” Arya answered quickly. “Not if he doesn’t miss me.” 

“What makes you think that?” Galayne cackled. 

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Arya managed before she turned to her closet to retrieve another tunic--to no avail, everything felt too constricting for her all of a sudden.

“I placed some new ones in the top drawer, my lady. More will be brought up after your formal wedding this week.” Galayne called from the table by the window. “They would fit you much better--especially when you start to swell.” 

Arya’s heart thumped inside her chest and shook her head before she popped out of the dressing room to walk up to her Septa. 

“What did you say?” Arya feigned. 

Galayne did not look up from her embroidery and the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks became a bit deafening for Arya as she stood to wait for her response. 

“How would I have not known?” Galayne muttered knowingly. “I knew long before you did--even before the maester confirmed it to you. I was a bit hurt that you didn’t tell me once you were informed, but hells--you haven’t told Lord Berry Tart either so I will keep mum until you’re ready to tell me, I suppose.” 

Arya’s lower lip quivered. She had asked the maester to allow her to divulge the news to Jaime herself--but since he hasn’t been to their chambers since she found out…

Then in a moment, she couldn’t stop it. 

The shaking of her shoulders. 

The tears from her eyes. 

Septa Galayne immediately rushed to Arya before she sat on the floor and led her to talk by her bedside. 

**=======**

“Oh sweet Gods in the heavens above.” Septa Galayne muttered exasperatingly before offering her another clean towel to wipe her face. “Please tell me that you don’t actually believe this theory?” 

“What else could it be?” Arya sobbed. “The maester probably informed him about me despite my request, and now that I’m--he--like all the stupid Lords and their stupid fathers before them, doesn’t really need to be with me until he has to make another one again! How else would you explain why he’s been away since then? Jaime hasn’t been at his chambers for three nights, didn’t say a word to me during council two days ago and had nothing nice to say to ANYONE when he finally dined with us last night!” 

“I thought--because I went with him…” Arya cried softly. “That I wouldn’t be treated like some Lord’s broodmare, as I feared and now…”

“My lady, answer me this; Was your father a Lord?” 

“Yes--but…”

“Did he treat your lady mother like some ‘broodmare’?” 

“Well--no, but--” 

“Another question: Besides discovering that you’re with child, what else happened on the day that your Lord husband began to be absent from your presence?” 

Arya thought for a bit. “We took a walk, but I wanted to retire early…”

“Go on…”

“He insisted that I go see the maester that day--which would support the fact that maybe he’s been suspicious about my condition--”

“Besides that, my lady, please go on…” 

“I ate fruit and bread and that didn’t make my stomach upset like mostly everything these days, though I don’t mind cheese--oh, and Tyrion surprised me with Jon’s arrival and Godswood trees--”

“There we go.” Galayne noted. “Don’t you see?” 

Arya’s face furrowed. “You think Jaime’s upset about the trees? That maybe he’s gotten territorial about Casterly Rock being decorated with Northern sentiment? And you thought that my theory is not sound at all? Really, Septa?” 

“Oh Gods!” Septa Galayne sighed frustratingly. “Well at least you got the ‘territorial’ part right.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Arya asked curiously. 

“Alright, let’s try this again.” Septa proceeded to spend more water from the carafe into the goblet in her hand. 

“Do you remember the first time we went down to the training grounds? To watch your husband train with his men? You said you always wanted to see him spar, but never went down because you thought since he gave you free reign to train with Master Forel, that this was his time for himself?”

Arya nodded. 

“Do you remember exactly what made you decide to go down and see him anyway?” 

Arya nodded. “He went to see me practice with Syrio once so I thought--”

“Uh huh… And that thought came upon you, when? ” Galayne asked knowingly but before Arya could respond, she continued. “It was shortly after Marianne mentioned in passing that certain ladies from the banner houses frequented the barracks to watch these public spars--to especially spare a glance at your very own shirtless pastry--” 

Arya coughed a bit and her lips formed a thin line. “Well, yes--if ladies could be present, I thought why couldn’t we go and see these _seemingly interesting_ matches? I am THE Lady of Casterly Rock, am I not?” 

Septa Galayne smiled as if she were stifling a giggle. “Right... Now--when you yielded after the second match--you somehow felt the need to devour Lord Berry Tart’s mouth in front of the whole crowd--what was your thought process behind--”

“Do you have an actual point here or are we simply going through memories to emphasize why I miss him?” Arya argued, before catching what she just said. “Why I think, I miss him--rather.”

“If I simply wanted to reiterate stories, why don’t we revisit the very public hallway rendezvous of the Lion and his Wolfling? In which half the castle avoided the library wing for the entire day because of alleged hauntings? Of very, very happy ghosts, may I add. Oooohh--or the late night wolf heat that the lion enjoyed on top of the kitchen counter which forced the head cook to order strict sanitation practices the following day? OOOOHHH! No! How about that long ride that the wolfling took in the stables without ever mounting a horse?” 

“That was NOT Jaime and I.” Arya smirked. “That was Pod and someone else.” 

That made the young Septa’s face turn white. “What--do you mean Podr--Ser Podrick? Last week at the stables?” she then turned a bit miffed. “With who? Are you certain?” 

Arya raised a brow to study her features before chuckling.

“No--it was indeed Jaime and I. I just wanted to confirm something.” 

Septa Galayne’s face showed both relief and embarrassment. “Lady Arya--” 

“You are one _naughty_ Septa.” Arya teased before taking a sip of her water. “By the way, you and Pod desecrated the kitchen way before Jaime and I did!” 

Stifling a giggle, Galayne playfully swiped at her with the handkerchief she was embroidering. “You--you could’ve just asked me!” 

“Where’s the fun in all of that?” Arya squealed before they both exchanged fits of laughter. “From what I hear from these walls--some of the whores have even offered their services to him for no gold if he considered it so I’m sure your ungodly hours have been well spent--” 

“Stop it!” Septa Galayne laughed. “Oh--Lady Arya--please…”

“I am happy for you.” Arya noted sadly. “But I slightly envy you.” 

“Envy me?” Galayne asked. “You and Lord Jaime have been unstoppable since you--well. And I don’t suppose you’d be all that enthused about him if it were something you’d have to ‘envy’ another for--” 

“Well, at least Pod’s not some Lord who’d just leave you if he ever managed to put a child in you. You may have taken vows--but you wouldn’t be the first to break your oath and I’m sure you’d find an alternative to--” Arya snapped back, tears returning to her eyes. “I just thought that maybe--” 

Arya grew more frustrated as she started sobbing again. Why was she so weepy? Then angry? Then happy? All at once! It was a lot to deal with. 

“My Lady…” Septa sighed before offering her another soft towel. “It really isn’t what you think--I have been trying to tell you--”

A soft knock at the door interrupted them. 

“Lady Stark--” It was Tyrion’s voice. “May I come in?” 

Arya wiped the tears off her face. “Yes, of course.” 

Tyrion paused at the door to study her face before shutting it behind him. “Are you unwell, again--my lady?” 

Arya shook her head. “No! It’s just--some dust…” 

Septa Galayne smirked beside her. “Sure, dust. Good afternoon, Lord Tyrion.” 

“Septa Galayne.” Tyrion answered politely. “I just wanted to inform you that your brother and I have arrived and thought to have some refreshments by the terrace--Shae and the children have sent some fruits from the garden and---” 

“Yes, yes, I’d love to, Tyrion.” Arya answered excitedly before leaping up to take his arm. 

Arya turned to Galayne and smirked. “Join us? At least some people are happy to spend some time with me.” 

Beside her, she sensed that Tyrion and Septa Galayne exchanged knowing glances before they departed her chambers. 

**Tyrion**

“So? What do you need me back there for?” Jaime snapped as he continued to brutally massacre the straw dummy provided by his men at the training grounds at Castle Kayce. 

“I haven’t missed council, the bannermen and commonfolk are happy, I’m there when my duties call me as Lord, but at this moment--” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he leaned by a wooden pole. “And as a Lord Husband, do you not have duties to attend to as far as---” 

“Oh? Has Lady Stark finally noticed my absence?” Jaime spat angrily, dealing another blow. “What a surprise! I doubted whether--” 

“She actually didn’t say anything.” Tyrion muttered. “That’s what I’m worried about…”

That made Jaime stop and turn to him immediately, silent fury clearly present in his ‘handsome’ features.

‘Oh brother, this is only too easy.’ Tyrion thought silently, trying not to smirk.

“What?” Jaime huffed angrily. “She didn’t--SHE HASN’T SAID ANY--” 

Tyrion shook his head. “Nope. Not a word. Why do you think I came to get you? You have been away days too long, brother mine. While it doesn’t seem to bother your wife in the slightest--” 

“THEN WHAT IN THE SEVEN BLOODY HELLS COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED ME FOR?” Jaime exclaimed before throwing his dull blade at the chest of the unfortunate dummy. “I AM PERFECTLY FINE, RIGHT HERE.” 

“Holed up at the luxurious guest chambers at Castle Kayce?” Tyrion snided. “Wise choice, being that this house is without family--but you are truly being an impetuous child…” 

“Impetuous? Child? Impetuous child? Me?” Jaime spat indignantly. “If you paid enough attention to how slighted I’ve been--ESPECIALLY when I joined you for dinner last evening---” 

Tyrion’s lips formed a thin line and he rolled his eyes. 

_Arya’s eyes lit up immediately upon Jaime’s entrance in the dining hall. His brother has been ‘unable’ to join them for the last three evenings, and though his good sister hasn’t expressed it to him--she’s been unhappy about Jaime’s abrupt absences too, despite being overjoyed by her brother’s visit._

_“Jaime…” she called when her husband took his seat at the head of the table, Arya at his right, himself to the left and Jon immediately beside the Lady._

_Tyrion and Jon took their seats after Jaime did rightfully, while Arya never stood._

_Jaime’s stubborn face offered her a curt nod before he motioned for Marianne to fill his goblet._

_“And how does Lord Kenning do, brother?” Tyrion offered when silence kept them company for a moment. Though tension was present at the table without Jaime’s presence for the past three evenings, Jon, himself and Arya found ways to laugh._

_The tension seemed to be too thick tonight however, for Jaime is certainly making his ‘aloofness’ quite evident._

_All Tyrion could see is how much Arya wanted her brother to be welcomed at the table. The boy was never allowed to sit with Ned Stark’s legitimate children at Winterfell, and Arya couldn’t have been more thrilled to have offered him his rightful space at her own house’s table. As someone whose own bastards have been welcomed at the very same place, Tyrion could not be happier to do the same for Arya._

_Alas--it was all amiss._

_Arya expected to see Jaime’s full acceptance of Jon, just as he did Tyna and Shane._

_It was way too easy and wholesome for his good sister to misinterpret Jaime’s blatant, irrational jealousy as his unacceptance--and it was clear how this disheartened her._

_She threw an uneasy glance at Jaime before taking a roll from the basket and placing it on Jon’s plate with a small smile._

_“That one looked the softest.” she whispered to her brother before taking one of her own._

_Although Jaime didn’t spare them a glance, it was easy to spot his annoyance as he gripped his steak knife so firmly that his knuckles had whitened._

_“Jaime?” Tyrion prodded._

_“What?” Jaime snapped, acting nonchalant as he continued to butcher the meat on his plate._

_“Lord Kenning? How is he?” Tyrion asked again. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Jon had deposited some sliced fruit on Arya’s plate, to the young lady’s delight._

_“Go on, you’ve been eyeing them like berry tarts since we sat.” Jon whispered teasingly. “Try to eat a bit of the fowl too--you’ve not touched much but fruits since I arrived--”_

_“I’m sure the kitchen could’ve provided their lady a generous share of whatever she fancied to devour, Snow.” Jaime muttered firmly without meeting their eyes. “There was certainly no need for you to deprive yourself of a full helping of Casterly Rock’s hospitality.”_

_‘Oh boy.’ Tyrion thought as Arya’s brow raised in obvious annoyance. ‘Oh Jaime--don’t…’_

_“I’m sure they would’ve if I asked.” Arya retorted before using her fingers to bring a slice of melon between her teeth. “But I did prefer the ones on his plate, and he was kind enough to spare me. Thank you, Jon.”_

_Jon shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Pardon, my lord, I was only--”_

_“There’s no need to apologize for your natural generosity.” Arya snapped. “I appreciated it.”_

_This caused Jaime to finally seek her eyes, and a silent war loomed between them as neither looked like they were going to stand down._

_“Indeed not! We the Lannisters, appreciate generosity more than almost any trait.” Tyrion offered. “Though maybe I should motion for more to be brought--MARIANNE!”_

_“Please don’t bother, Lord Tyrion.” Arya spat confidently, not leaving Jaime’s stubborn gaze and her jaw clenched. “That’s very kind of you, but I feel I should retire. Jon do you mind--”_

_“But you hardly touched anything--” Jon tried to respond before being met with Arya’s determined gaze._

_“Of course, as you wish.” Jon said instead before seeking Jaime’s eyes for polite approval. “With his lordship’s leave--”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh?” Jaime smirked sardonically._

_That signature ‘smirk’ of Jaime’s has not been present since he returned to their home as a Lord. It has since been replaced with looks of adoration, pathetic smiles that reminded Tyrion of maidens being wooed by handsome knights in songs, and cocky grins of confidence in Lady Arya’s presence._

_The re emergence of this particular smirk, however reminded Tyrion of Jaime’s miserable days as Cersei’s little puppet--doing all of her biddings of torture as some pompous warrior._

_Tyrion hated it._

_“That would be a shame.” Jaime noted. “I meant to catch-up with you, my good-brother. Given that I haven’t had the opportunity since you surprised us with your presence.”_

_Arya’s lips remained firm. “Oh did you?”_

_Jaime’s cocky grin remained, his eyes not taking leave of Jon’s._

_“Well that’s awfully kind of you--’My Lord.’” she added with respite before taking her seat back._

_Jaime’s eyes narrowed then._

_‘Oh----boy.’ Tyrion thought before refilling his goblet again. ‘War it is.’_

_“Have you swung that sword yet?” Jaime countered before returning to his goblet._

_Jon nodded solemnly. “Aye, my lord--”_

_“At someone, I mean.” Jaime continued before meeting Jon’s gaze as a challenge. “Not as part of your training, if I needed to be clearer.”_

_The boy pressed his lips together before casting his gaze back down at his plate, and Jaime’s stupid smirk returned._

_Until his wife reached for her brother’s hand to comfort him._

_‘I am not drunk enough for this.’ Tyrion thought. ‘I am never going to be drunk enough for this.’_

_“It’s a strange thing, the first time you cut a man.” Jaime seethed. “You’d soon realize we’re nothing but sacks of meat, bones and blood--”_

_“That’s a generous description, My Lord. That’s precisely where my own wonder lies at this very moment.” Arya retorted and the bold implication in her sentence was difficult to veil as anything else but a threat for she stared Jaime down bravely._

_“Not an appetizing topic for dinner, though, I must say!” Tyrion managed finally, and he was met with the young boy’s grateful look. “Jon, tell me--Longclaw, was it? Is that from the--”_

_“From Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, of Bear Island.” Arya countered. “He gave Jon the sword as a form of gratitude when he saved his life during an encounter beyond the wall regarding a conflict with the freefolk--”_

_“Yes!” Tyrion offered before smiling at Jon. “That was actually quite the tale, Jon--”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You were there to hear it with me.” Arya continued. “I suppose his lordship implied a need to hear a backstory about the extent of my brother’s experience with sword fighting--and I am not as humble as Jon to refuse him such.”_

_“Not a backstory, needed, Lady Stark.” Jaime countered. “I merely posed a question--”_

_“Did you? I must’ve missed it with all the details you’ve provided thereafter--as if one who did experience such horror in duty needed a summary.” Arya answered without letting go of Jon’s palm._

_Jaime’s smirk returned, but on a more waning defensive stance now than his fight for power just a bit earlier. “Well then, Snow. Allow me to thank you, for guarding us all against the deadly perils beyond The Wall--wildlings, free folk, ‘white walkers’ and whatnot. Grateful--to have good and strong men like you, protecting us.”_

_‘Oh Jaime, you cocky shit.’ Tyrion thought before rolling his eyes._

_“Jaime--” Tyrion started._ _  
_ _  
_ _“We’ve guarded the kingdoms for eight thousand years.” Jon responded then, firmly, strongly this time, and not backing down from Jaime’s surprised gaze._

_Arya met Jaime’s gaze too--proud of the brother whose hand she kept holding._

_But his own brother was not to be deterred._

_Jaime leaned back casually on his chair and smiled condescendingly. “ Of course you have. Kindly send my regards to the Night’s Watch. I am certain that it must be thrilling to serve in such an ‘elite’ force.”_

_Arya raised her brow at him, knowing he would deliver a blow._

_“If not--” Jaime finished with a smirk before sipping his wine. “It’s only for life.”_

_‘Oh you’ve done it.’ Tyrion thought as Arya’s lower lip quivered slightly. ‘Jaime, you are a blasted bloody idiot.’_

_“Let me second his lordship’s gratitude, Jon--to you and the Watch.” Tyrion offered then, more than anything now just to aid Arya’s struggle. “As the shield that guards the realm of men, it’s not just Casterly Rock that SHOULD have eternal gratitude for your service and sacrifice, but all of the seven kingdoms.”_

_Arya tightened her grip on Jon’s hand, and from the corner of his eye--Jaime’s jaw firmed._

_“You deserve the country’s gratitude, but as you already know, with or without your service to the realm, you have my heart.” Arya declared quietly, as if they were the only ones left in the room._

_Tyrion greatly admired Arya’s determination to comfort her brother, but was slightly daunted by his own brother’s oncoming reaction at her words._

_“Not only do you have my gratitude as well, you also have my pride and my love.” she declared softly, wholeheartedly. To which her brother responded with a grateful smile and nod._

_“I love you.”_

_Winterfell’s outcasts--a pack of two who will always stand by each other._

_Tyrion turned to offer a conversation of distraction for Jaime who seemed to have struggled with his feelings all night. As soon as they were left to themselves, Tyrion vowed to admonish his cocky brother for his poor attitude and enlighten him about Arya’s actual obvious intentions._

_Just until then._

_While Arya kept one of Jon’s hands underneath hers, along with sweet words of compassion and love, Tyrion watched as Jaime’s resolve broke in front of his very eyes._

_The smirk was immediately washed off his face._

_No cockiness or defensiveness remained behind his eyes._

_In an instant, his older brother--renowned warrior, strategist, and sometimes his own personal hero--was easily defeated by deprivation of a declaration that he felt belonged to him._

“And if YOU paid enough attention, you would see that there is a bigger picture being painted on top of your irrational jealousy, no matter how amusing it is to watch--” Tyrion countered. 

Jaime smirked.

That defensive, annoying smirk. 

“I am NOT jealous.” He answered before turning to switch his blade. 

Tyrion tut-tutted. “Of course, you’re not. Now let’s head back…”

“No.” Jaime answered.

“Father is due in two days for your formal wedding.” Tyrion reasoned. “The rest of the party from King’s Landing--with the exception of the royal family who already bore witness to your first, are expected to arrive in three. They expect the Lord of the Castle, the GROOM--”

“And I will be there to welcome them all, give the Rock their due ceremony and--” 

“Then return here to further impose on Lord Kenning’s castle?” 

Jaime scoffed. “It’s not as if he is lacking rooms--as you said, this house doesn’t host family at the moment--”

Tyrion groaned. “Jaime--”

“I haven’t thought that far yet, alright?” Jaime confessed before picking up another blade. 

“Of course, you haven’t.” Tyrion sighed. “Let’s get down to the bottom of this, for I fear you will continue to thread away from the real reason behind your petulance; none of these straw dummies is Jon Snow.” 

At the mention of the bastard’s name, Jaime swiftly beheaded his target and shot Tyrion a glare.

“PODRICK!” Jaime called out to Podrick, who was stationed just outside. “I NEED ANOTHER!” 

“IGNORE HIM!” Tyrion bellowed after him. “Jaime--” 

“Don’t--” 

“You can make yourself as scarce as you want, massacre every practice dummy that the seven kingdoms could make in haste to quell your angst--but as you stood witness to with myself last evening-- you know that none of it will change your wife’s devotion to her brother.” 

In two short strides, Jaime pointed the blade at Tyrion, who remained undaunted. 

“Wrong bastard, brother.” Tyrion scoffed. “But go on.” 

Jaime glared before he resigned his weapon slowly and threw it to the side in frustration. 

“I will not talk to you about--” 

“Then you will listen, you heartsick, cocky, imbecile.” Tyrion spat. “The love that those two share is not at all like yours and Cersei’s. Stop torturing yourself about these false thoughts.” 

Jaime turned to respond angrily but Tyrion held out a palm. 

“Spare me.” Tyrion continued. “I’d like to forget about you and Cersei more than you do.” 

Tyrion watched as Jaime’s jaw unclenched and stilled for him to continue. He didn’t want to further his tirade then, but he knew he had to plunge the dagger deeper in order for the issue to finally quell. Tyrion was never a fan of shallow fixes. 

“The truth is--Arya loves her bastard brother most of all, and he returns the very same affection for they share a bond that very few would ever experience in this lifetime. Your antagonism towards him greatly hurt her--” 

“Antagonism?” Jaime exclaimed. “I have given the boy every generosity that our home could bestow despite being blatantly slighted--”

“OH LISTEN TO YOURSELF!” Tyrion retorted. “Your ‘generosity’ to the boy since he arrived is only highly comparable to our father’s treatment of myself; accepted only because I was his relation, but openly unwanted in his presence--and if you say one word to defend yourself on the matter I will pick up that dull blade myself and slice your handsome face in half with it!” 

Jaime stood back, fury still present in his eyes. “You heard her declaration, Tyrion. It may have been a whisper but it was unashamedly done right in front of me-”

“Which should have all but confirmed that your jealousy is founded on your own demons, and not at all reality.” Tyrion responded calmly. “Her open declaration to him should have immediately told you what she actually needed from you at that point. If she meant it the way you believe she did, don’t you think your clever wife would’ve expressed such forbidden affection in private?” 

“Tyrion--Arya doesn’t care about propriety. If she feels like doing something, she will do it no matter what social decorum dictates--”

“Which is PRECISELY why you should have known that her feelings are not of a sinful nature, Jaime!” Tyrion spat. “You seriously think that your wife would care to shower you with such affections all throughout our freehold, with no concern for decorum, or who bears witness just because she’s tied to you? And then you think she’ll go on to declare love for another in front of you? What kind of woman did you take her for? You really may not know her as well as I do!” 

“She hasn’t come to me since the day her bastard brother arrived on your invitation--”

“Has your handsome face graced her presence since then? Have you not hidden out here like some scorned young wife?” Tyrion retorted frustratingly. “Try and think before you speak, brother, or your own selfish inner turmoil will ruin what you have!” 

Jaime closed his eyes and fisted his palms at Tyrion’s words, a way to calm himself further. 

‘Good.’ Tyrion thought as he watched Jaime pace. 

“Don’t compete with her brother, Jaime. You won’t win.” Tyrion declared boldly. “Arya will always love him, no matter what you do.” 

Jaime’s rage immediately returned as he strode towards him but Tyrion only spared him a calmer glance and a raised hand in surrender. 

“Instead, why don’t you become the man she promised herself to? The man you grew to be in such a short time since you tied yourself to her? The man who accepted his own brother’s bastards at the table and even spends time getting to know them.” Tyrion appealed as Jaime’s resolve slowly returned to his face. “She may not have said anything about your absence, but that girl has looked out the window of the back entrance till later hours, hoping for your return.” 

A flicker of hope returned to Jaime’s features then, but he remained stubborn. 

“Has she really?” Jaime whispered. “Last night, she didn’t even--” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes then. “If you looked at her then, you’d have seen how relieved she was that you had come home. How happy she was to have the two men besides her own father that she holds dearest at the same table as equals. But you were far too busy trying to displace the boy and assert your own role in her life that you inadvertently hurt her.” 

Jaime looked up at him regretfully, “What? No--I--What did she--” 

Tyrion shook his head. “Shortly after you left last night, she informed Jon and myself that she was going to retire early for the evening. It was the first night that she didn’t insist upon waiting at the back sitting room to look out the window.” 

Jamie groaned and closed his eyes before taking a seat next to Tyrion remorsefully. 

“I don’t know how--” 

“Just make your way home now.” Tyrion declared impatiently. “Immediately.”

Jamie shook his head. “I don’t know, Tyrion--”

“Do it because you are wiser. Do it because that’s where you want to be anyway. Do it because you are her Lord Husband. Do it for your family, Jaime.” 

Jaime was going to reply with a hesitation or objection before pausing to think about Tyrion’s last sentence. 

“Wha--” Jaime started before unconsciously getting up on his feet. 

Tyrion simply nodded. 

“She’s--” Jamie muttered as the realization formed in his features.

“Jaime--you’re not here, go where you are--again.” Tyrion chided with a grin. “And stay there.”

**Jaime and Arya**

“Hi.” Arya called softly as she felt his presence stall at a nearby tree behind her.

After a short pause, Jaime finally mustered up the courage and cleared his throat. As soon as cold water washed over his senses after Tyrion’s tirade, he took the best mare from the stable and rushed back home at breakneck speed, determined to rush to Arya’s side and beg for forgiveness in her chamber. 

He didn’t expect to come upon her at the back garden, where he entered, wearing a thick robe to fight the late night chill of the coast. He seemed to have known exactly what to say on the way back, but words escaped him as he watched her form gazing up at the largest Godswood tree that was recently planted for her. 

“Hello.” he managed, hoping that she would turn to meet his eyes. Jaime was breathless--and he didn’t know if it was because of the short yet rapid journey it took to get home, or because she was in his presence again after what seemed like an eternity. 

‘Three nights, Lannister.’ he scolded himself. ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ 

“How did you know that it was me--” Jaime began

“Patterns.” Arya answered simply, refusing to turn. “The patterns in the wind changed and I know your footsteps all too well now. One of Syrio’s first lessons was to pay attention to the patterns of my surroundings. It will heighten all my senses and train me to see without having to use my own eyes.” 

Jaime nodded and he allowed his feet to come near her. He was suddenly lost about how to start this conversation. 

“What are you--”  
“What are you--” 

Arya turned to meet his eyes then, aware of the moisture that glossed over her eyes as soon as she heard his voice. It was one of the things that she struggled with most in her condition--she was deeply hurt by and is still quite mad at Jaime--but she missed him sorely, and wanted to do nothing else but to be enveloped in his strong arms and drown in his kisses.

She wanted to cry, laugh, punch him, and bed him all at the same time. 

It was quite frustrating.

“I thought to--” Arya began, clearing her own throat to veil her quivering voice. “I thought to take a walk before I retired for the evening.”

Jaime managed a nod while deeply admonishing himself for the tears that threatened his wife’s eyes. Didn’t he once want to behead whoever made her look this way? The night she confided in him about her almost arranged fate in the North? He quickly concluded that he still felt the same as before, even if it were his own head in the chopping block. 

‘So--dramatic.’ Jaime scolded himself again. 

“I thought--I thought to come home.” Jaime declared. “Arya--I’m…” 

“You finally settled your business with Kayce, then.” Arya concluded before turning from him. “I think Marianne might still be awake if you need something--” 

“Arya--” Jaime pleaded, though he was trying in vain to not sound like he was pleading. “I wanted to--” 

“I understand, Jaime. I’m not stupid.” Arya tried to respond confidently as she moved away from his approaching steps. 

Jaime raised a brow. “You--”

“I might’ve thought our arrangement would be different before I came here--but I understand it now.” She continued, speaking swiftly in order to avoid the disheartened tremble in her tone. “I only ask for civility in front of my brother--I don’t want him to worry about my situation, because for the most part I am happy here.” 

‘At least I was.’ Arya thought sadly. ‘For a while it was bliss.’ 

Jaime stood back, dumbfounded. “Arrangement? Arya--” 

Arya couldn’t stop a single tear from grazing her cheek and she was grateful that her back remained turned away from him. “I wed a Lord--even if it’s you--you’re still a Lord and it doesn’t make a difference. I should be grateful to you because you gave me an option to flee from my destiny up North, and I am. I suppose I just--anyway, I must confess that I didn’t anticipate your resignation from me as soon as it was confirmed--” she palmed her belly. 

Arya somehow missed hearing the patterns of her surroundings as Jaime’s hand turned her body and pulled her inside his arms, his nose inhaled the scent atop her head. 

Arya’s first instinct was to push him away--but she missed his scent so much that she allowed him to hold her.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you, but after your reaction I suppose I’m fortunate to have--” Arya continued, but Jaime gently pressed his forefinger on her mouth. 

“Let me speak.” Jaime whispered softly from above her head. “Please.”

Arya still didn’t meet his eyes but she remained silent. 

Where should he begin? A million beginnings raced through his mind but he really only wanted to utter one of them, the most important one. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaime started. “I was an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Arya bit her lip. “Did the news scare you? Is that why you left without a word?” 

Jaime shook his head then and clasped her face to meet his. “No--I actually just found out shortly before I came here.” 

“How? No one knows besides myself, the maester and my Septa. And you haven’t been--”

“Tyrion is confident that the walls speak true if one just listened.” Jaime answered. “Besides, if I had just paid attention and not been stuck inside my own head, I should’ve figured it out too.” 

Arya stepped back a bit then. “You’re not--You’re not upset about--?” 

Jaime stepped towards her. “No! Gods, You’ve no idea how happy--” 

“Have you only returned because of--” Arya furthered, stepping back again. 

“No! Of course not, as I said--I was an idiot and--” 

“So--why did you leave?” Arya pressed carefully, trying to still the rage forming inside her chest. 

Jaime took a step towards her again but she shot him another look, demanding a response.

How is she so lovingly timid one minute and fiery livid the next? 

“Arya--I don’t…” 

“Of all the theories I tortured myself with.” Arya started. “I thought--maybe you left because you no longer needed to lay with me until you needed another heir, or maybe you were annoyed because I’ve been too sickly lately, or maybe you found comfort in a secret brothel--” 

“What? Arya--” 

“But I truly avoided that one suspicion- even if it was fairly obvious. I told myself that the same person who accepted the Hill children in this home couldn’t be that heartless about my own brother despite his bastardy.” Arya concluded. “You resent his mere presence even if his birth status is not his doing! I didn’t think you’d be at all like my mother--” 

“I AM NOT!” Jaime exclaimed finally.

Arya paused then and acknowledged the sincerity in his frustration.

“I am not--bothered by his status.” he continued more gently. “That--is not why…” Jaime whispered calmly and ran a hand down his hair in frustration.

“Then why have you been gone? Why are you upset?” Arya asked softly then. 

Jaime stared at the floor while he pondered his next words. 

“Jaime?”

Jamie took a deep breath before running a hand down his mane.

“You love your brother.” he said quietly.

The declaration felt like venom on top of his tongue and he struggled to contain his displeasure.

Arya raised an eyebrow in sincere confusion. “I do, very much.” 

Jaime huffed and turned from her then, frustrated that he couldn’t get the meaning across to her without admitting that he was--that word. 

‘Jealous.’ he thought. ‘I’m NOT jealous.’ 

Arya’s soft hand didn’t need a firm grip to halt him and before long she was in front of him again.

“Jaime--I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” Arya declared sincerely. 

‘You won’t understand.’ Jaime thought to himself as he looked down on her beautiful face, which was immaculately radiant under the moonlight. The same gray eyes who studied him underneath similar trees in Winterfell two years past before pressing her innocent lips against his, looked up at him now in pure, sincere confusion. 

‘You won’t understand because I am battling my own ghosts. Your pure heart will never know such ghosts--and you may never come to accept--’

“Jaime?” Arya asked, truly confused about her husband’s turmoil. 

Jaime tried to turn from her again to collect his thoughts but Arya stilled him effortlessly, not breaking their gazes. 

“Help me understand.” she asked softly and reached for his hand. 

Jaime’s jaw clenched, his pride painfully crumbled inside his chest and he cast his eyes down. 

“I felt--” he started. “I was--”

‘Gods.’ he scolded himself as her bare palm tightened on his sword hand. ‘I am not--’

“Jealous.” he finally managed with great difficulty. 

Jaime continued to stare at the tip of his left boot as her eyes continued to study him meticulously. Arya didn’t know what to say about his confession, but acknowledged the great difficulty he seemed to endure in uttering the word. 

They stood in silence for sometime before Arya decided to speak. 

“Do you wish to say more about it?” she asked. 

Jamie shook his head firmly--with finality. 

“I do not.” 

Silence, again.

“Jaime?” she whispered and their gazes met. 

“Yes?” 

“I didn’t like it when you left without a word.” Arya declared firmly.

Her bold declaration took him aback--the icy fire in her eyes was resolute, unyielding--it made her all the more irresistible to him. 

“Don’t do it again.” she demanded with soft conviction.

Jaime shook his head. “I will not.” 

Arya took a step which placed her underneath his arms again, and Jaime’s hand naturally clasped her cheek, pressed his forehead against hers and inhaled deeply. 

“Promise me.” Arya whispered before standing on the tip of her toes to kiss his lips. Though she was still cross with him, she truly missed Jaime so much. 

“I promise.” Jaime responded before lifting her slightly off the ground to ease her into him, returning the passion of her kiss ten times fold while admonishing himself for willingly parting from her for longer than necessary. “I promise, I promise, I promise.” he declared in between kisses. 

Arya smiled upon his lips before she grabbed his sword hand and placed it on top of her belly. 

Jaime inhaled deeply as he palmed her belly gently, closed his eyes and rested his head against her forehead. 

“By the maester’s estimation--he supposes that I’m about a moon along.” Arya whispered underneath him. “We likely conceived--during our first night…” 

Jamie laughed pridefully as his fingers continued to rub her stomach, not opening his eyes.

“I was a bit afraid--for I did consume some moon tea, and I was training viciously but Maester Creylen said that everything seems to be normal and the babe is healthy. He even said that I could continue my training with Syrio--”

“We need to talk about that--” Jaime began.  
  
“As long as I take it easy.” Arya firmed. “I haven’t told Syrio anything but he has changed our routine practices way before I confirmed it with the maester-- so I suppose he has a way of knowing.” 

“Jaime--I wanted you to be the first to know.” Arya declared as she placed her hand on top of his on her belly. “I wanted to be the one to tell you--” 

“Then tell me.” Jaime whispered.  
  
“But you already know!” Arya chuckled. 

“Yes, but tell me anyway.” Jaime pleaded as a free hand clasped her jaw so that their gazes locked again. “Please.” 

‘Tell me.’ he thought. ‘Tell me the words that were supposed to be mine.’ 

‘Tell me what I know I’ve felt for you for some time.’ he thought desperately. ‘Tell me.’ 

“We’re having a babe.” Arya said instead. “Jaime--I’m carrying your child.” 

Under the moonlight of the Westerlands, surrounded by young Godswood trees inside his castle walls, Jaime took Arya’s lips in his and kissed her fervently--grateful for this moment in his life. 

**Jon**

“Bastards will always be a nuisance in any lord’s eyes.” Jon solemnly declared to Tyrion during breakfast. “I hold no ill feelings towards Lord Lannister--my sister sincerely expressed her happiness about her life here to me, and that is truly all I could hope for.” 

Tyrion shook his head. “From one bastard to another, I have to commend your insistent respect. It doesn’t make my own brother’s treatment of you acceptable--Lady Stark certainly didn’t appreciate it--” 

Jon offered the dwarf a curt smile. “You’re not a bastard, Lord Tyrion. And If I didn’t learn how to accept the indifference and sometimes condescending manners that were bestowed upon me, I wouldn’t have survived in Winterfell.” 

_Jon crumpled the missive that arrived for him at Castle Black mournfully, not needing to reread the news for the ink remained fresh in his mind._

_Jon S.--  
_ _Our journey to King’s Landing unexpectedly took a different turn.  
I will now remain here as the Hand of the King upon J. Arryn’s release, and Robb will reign as Warden of the North.  
_ _Sansa will no longer wed Prince Joffrey and is now promised to Highgarden.  
_ _Because of a contract technicality--your sister Arya is now made the Lady of Casterly Rock upon her marriage to Jaime L. who was released from his vows from the Kingsguard and left for the Westerlands yesterday morn-to settle the army regarding a threat from the East.  
_ _A formal ceremony is planned for three moons in their new home.  
_ _Arya accepted the terms immediately-there was none to be done about it, and even if I could-she was resolute about her acceptance.. She seemed in high spirits upon her departure and I am certain you will hear from her very soon, if you haven’t already. Write to me here, I do want to know how you fare at the Wall.  
_ _Ever Yours, Your Father.  
_ _Eddard S.--_

_Arya--his heart, now wed._

_To the Kingslayer._

_Though he’s always known that this day would come for the both of them--and he had no power to stop it, the finality of it all didn’t crush his heart alone._

_‘Arya accepted the terms immediately--resolute about her acceptance--’  
_ _'She seemed in high spirits--’_

_A part of him hoped that the last note had been a lie to soothe him, but a bigger part was happier if it were indeed true, for he knew that Arya would fight relentlessly should she find herself in an undesirable situation--and it would only be too easy for her to convince their Lord father to intervene._

_Arya’s happiness was all he truly wanted in this life, anyway. Afterall, she always ensured his. Back in Winterfell, she shamelessly preferred his company over her true siblings, sometimes even their own father. She always sensed when he was in low spirits and would come up with a way to make him smile. Whether it was to show him her improving skills with a bow, stealing a book from the library that her mother deemed too unladylike for them to read together, or simply cuddling under his arm on a restless night without a word. Arya always made him feel that he belonged somewhere. She made him feel wanted. She made him smile._

_She was the only one who could truly make him smile._

_That she accepted the match ‘immediately’ puzzled him greatly. The Kingslayer’s visit to Winterfell two years past didn’t give them much interaction as Lady Catelyn warned him off much socialization with the royal family. Lord Tyrion seeked him--declaring himself a like bastard in his own father’s eyes and offered good conversation and company. He wondered about the possibility of Arya interacting with the elder Lannister during this visit but resigned for she never told him anything about it._

_She told him everything._

_While Jon trusted Arya’s acceptance, it pained him in the days after to not receive a single word from her about the matter, or anything else in particular really. Raven after raven were sent to the Wall and each time he hoped that her familiar messy scrawl would grace his own name at a parchment from Casterly Rock, but none came. In his heart, he sort of knew why she wouldn’t have written--she had confidence in his heart and he should in hers._

_But he still wanted to hear from her._

_When a raven finally arrived from Casterly Rock almost two moons later--it was from Lord Tyrion Lannister. Attached to the invitation was a formal request for leave so he could attend Arya’s formal wedding, which the Lord Commander graciously granted._

_\--your sister misses you greatly. She has spoken of you every single day since she’s been settled here and often wonders about how you are faring. She’s been generous about tales of your adventures with her back home, which she also longs for, but she’s declared that Winterfell was only home with you in it, for you are her most favorite person in this world.  
_ _It will bring her utmost joy to have you visit her new home, and I intend to make it a surprise--_

_Though the raven came with a lengthy note, Jon tore this particular piece, discarding the part about Godswood trees and details about the upcoming celebration. He kept the elegant piece of parchment inside his leather armor, close to his chest._

_Jon’s confidence in holding Arya’s heart was instilled immediately upon seeing her again. It was a powerful moment, how it felt like they were the only ones in the world again, though the Lords of the Castle, including her own husband were in their presence._

_Her eyes were immediately locked onto his._

_Still mine._

_A sweeping ray of pride overcame him as she walked past her own husband, to envelop herself in his arms._

_Arya always chose him. He belonged._

_While Jon didn’t expect to be treated with any form of specialty, for the Kingslayer is now free of his vows and declared a Lord of his house, and his little sister’s Lord Husband, he did not anticipate his blatant snides during his visit._

_Jon welcomed Lord Lannister’s first few days of absence, for it allowed him time with Arya--and as always, she was generous about sharing her new life with him. It didn’t surprise him at all to confirm that his sister had won the hearts of nobles and commoners alike in the short time that she lived in Casterly Rock--even knew some beggars by name and shared some goods from the market with them. They dined with Tyrion’s family, where he truly enjoyed himself without the confines of a fancy castle. Both him and Arya played with Tyna and Shane and it greatly reminded him of all the times that they used to play with Bran and Rickon as children too._

_Arya did not speak much about her marriage, only that her husband was kind and generous and that she lived a happy life here. He didn’t ask her to elaborate either, for he really didn’t want to know anything further than that. Jon was overjoyed and surprised to learn that Lord Lannister employed a Braavosi swordmaster to formally train Arya--no wonder she was ecstatic. Jon was slowly starting to learn why her acceptance of him was immediate, and if he did allow Arya to be herself, he was grateful for Lord Lannister._

_Arya danced skillfully in front of him during one of her training sessions, with the sword he had commissioned for her in her hand--careful in steps but immaculately precise. In one final swoop, she turned to him with the most beautiful smile he’ll ever see in his life and said words that he holds dear in his heart;_

_“As long as I have ‘Needle’ beside me, I know you’re with me too.”_

_The tense dinner with The Kingslayer all but confirmed what he had suspected all along. The Lord did not like his presence--not a surprise. But with Arya’s hand on top of his, and her bold declaration of love, acceptance and pride on his behalf was more than enough for Jon._

_Arya chose him._

_She will always choose him._

_Yet just the evening before--was a scene that Jon tried in vain to erase from his memory._

_He should be happy._

_He should._

_He is._

_In part._

_It was later in the night when he discovered the backdoor was open. A quick confirmation from Marianne the maid told him what his heart already knew; Arya seeked the Godswood on a restless night._

_He gathered a fresh berry tart from the counter before he braved to follow her, wanting to make sure that she was alright. He stopped behind a tall tree when he discovered that she wasn’t alone._

_“--carrying your child.” Arya declared as she rested her hand on top of his, pure joy in her eyes upon uttering the words._

_Lord Lannister laughed gratefully before kissing her passionately, which was accepted in equal favor, for Arya wrapped her hands around his neck and welcomed him most ardently._

_When they parted, they both exchanged whispers that were too soft for him to hear, though their laughter and joy was quite evident from where he stood._

_Jon didn’t realize that his palm had fisted intensely and crumbled the pastry in his hand. He quietly wiped the remains of the jam on his breeches before he bowed his head down and retreated back into the castle._

_Arya chose him._

_She will always choose him._

_But she chose him too._

“It’s quite alright, Lord Tyrion.” Jon interjected. “I’ll let my sister know about my departure this afternoon after she meets with Syrio. I am most grateful to you for the days that I have been able to spend with her here, truly. I’m sure Lady Catelyn would appreciate my leave--they’re due in the morrow, I was told..” 

Tyrion shook his head. “Jon, you know that Arya would prefer your presence over--” 

“Snow.” A familiar voice greeted them from the doorway of the library. 

Both Jon and Tyrion stood to acknowledge the Lord of the house respectfully. 

“My lord.” Jon responded politely. 

Jamie nodded and cleared his throat before speaking. “I was told that the Winterfell retinue was readying to depart for the North this afternoon--”

“Yes, my lord.” Jon responded. 

“Do you not intend to stay for the wedding?” Jamie asked hesitantly. “I thought it was the whole purpose of your visit.” 

Jon met his eyes and nodded. “I thought it might be easier for my sister if I had departed my lord. Her mother is due on the morrow and--” 

“It’s not her mother’s castle.” Jaime firmed. “I know for certain that my wife, the lady of this house, greatly desires your presence for as long as your leave would allow--especially on a truly important day.” 

Jon swallowed for he still sensed a bit of distaste in Jaime’s tone--though he was now forcing himself to be polite. “Of course, my lord.” 

Tyrion coughed and headed for the door. “I will take the liberty of informing your guard to postpone the departure, Jon.” he exited. 

Jaime studied him meticulously before turning to resign the room himself. “Thank you.” 

Jon offered him a curt nod before he turned to the window, not realizing the Lord Lannister did not quit the room after all behind him. 

“Jon--” he began. 

Startled by the use of his first name, Jon turned back to face him. 

“My lord?” 

“Arya and I--we…” Jamie coughed again, as if struggling with his next sentence. “We would be honored to have you take your rightful seat at the high table with our families after the ceremony, and to stand beside your father and brother during the rights as well.” 

Jon inhaled deeply. “Lord Lannister, that is very generous of you, but you don’t have to--” 

“We would also insist upon your continuing to sit at our table no matter who else joins us afterward.” Jamie continued firmly. “You are Arya’s brother. You will take a brother’s place at her table.” 

Jon drew back, uncertain at first about how to feel with Jaime’s forced generosity.

He nodded instead and cast his eyes down.

Jamie studied him for a few moments before turning on his heel again. “Very well--”

A spontaneous streak of courage prompted Jon to speak faster than he could think. “My lord?” 

Jamie turned to face him curiously. “Yes?”

“You’d--you really WOULD do anything for her, wouldn’t you?” it wasn’t truly a question, for Jon already knew the answer. This entire conversation alone gave him the answer to this query. Nonetheless, he felt the need to hear Lord Lannister's true response.

“Yes.” Jaime answered simply. “Yes I would.” 

Jon nodded gratefully, though an inexplicably sweet pang pained his chest. 

“Thank you.” he managed truthfully.

Jamie cleared his throat. “Jon?” 

Jon met his eyes. 

“Join us for fast.” Jamie asked.

**Jaime and Arya**

The time came late into a summer night. Arya screamed at Jamie to gather the maester and Septa Galayne before she braved herself to walk to the nursing quarter, her old chambers--which has been prepped for weeks for the arrival of their child. 

Jamie refused to leave her side despite Tywin’s insistence to wait with him and Tyrion outside the door. He wasn’t going to be deprived of this experience. Never again. He held Arya’s hand as she bravely delivered their child into the world. 

Their children--children into the world.

Children. 

Identical twin girls, both with dark tufts of brown hair and stunning Lannister emerald eyes. 

The laborious hours were shorter than anticipated, and his wife delivered beautifully, almost too easily, before falling into deep slumber. 

Jamie immediately dismissed any visitors to the room, and stood up to his own father when Tywin suggested that the presentation of heirs to their bannermen should take place that same afternoon, for the nobles are quite eager to meet the children, even if both are girls. 

“My wife is exhausted! She has just delivered not one, but two healthy babes. They’re not just heirs, they’re your grandchildren! Surely that grants her some sort of rest, father.” Jaime insisted. 

Tywin uncharacteristically conceded without another word.

Carrying the older by seven minutes daughter in his arms as Arya nursed the other on her breast as she slept, Jamie studied her gratefully. 

‘Beautiful.’ he thought as the little one cooed in his arm. ‘So beautiful.’ 

For the first few hours, he was content to be surrounded by the most important women in his life, accompanied by nothing else but the sound of the waves outside, and patterned visits of Septa Galayne, Tyrion and his father. Upon Arya’s insistence and his command, nurse maids were not to be called upon until after the children were two moons, unless absolutely necessary. 

Arya didn’t fully wake until the sun was almost setting--her stomach seemed to grumble for food. Her eyes came upon Jamie as he stood by the arch of the window, cuddling one of their children on his bare chest, wrapped in a blanket that her mother had especially embroidered for her ‘first grandchild.’

Arya groaned as the little one on her chest released a sore nipple. She slowly got up to place the sleeping child on the bassinet nearby but Jaime immediately rushed to her side. 

“Let me--” he whispered. 

Arya chuckled quietly. “I gave birth, I’m not incapacitated.” she reasoned as she slowly gathered her feet but achieved her goal. “Does that one need feeding?” 

Jamie shook his head. “I have been switching them carefully as you slept. They both seem to be satisfied for now. Though I believe their mother needs to eat.” 

Arya nodded before she sat on the small table near the bed. “Terribly--though I don’t know if I can hold much down.” 

They spoke quietly while Arya ate--and within hours Jamie told her that their eldest didn’t like being put down--and that he didn’t mind holding her as much as she demanded. The youngest doesn’t fuss much at all, only when she’s hungry. Jamie also told her that they could tell them apart with a small birthmark inside the younger’s left wrist, shaped like a wolf’s head.

They decided moons ago that if they were to have a boy, he would be named Edrin, a combination of both their fathers names--and for a girl, it would be Tyriene--for Jamie’s father and brother. They both decided to give their eldest this name.

“So--how about Edrina for our youngest?” Jamie suggested. 

Arya shook her head. “It doesn’t sound right.” 

They talked about Edwyn, Edarra, Brianna, Edralin and Rhianne among others--but they couldn't seem to agree. 

It was a little while later when Arya glanced upon a small portrait of the old Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock upon the mantle. 

“Joanna.” she declared with finality. “Her name is Joanna.” 

Jamie smiled and peeked at his youngest, fast asleep in the bassinet. “Joanna.” he firmed. 

“For your mother.” Arya whispered as she stood beside him pridefully. 

“And your brother.” he answered quietly. 

Arya seeked his eyes then and smiled widely--the smile Jamie craved to see in his wake. 

The smile he truly came to love.

Jaime inhaled deeply as their gazes locked, waiting--hoping for the words he longed to hear. 

‘Tell me.’ he thought. ‘Tell me so I could say it too.’ 

Arya reached for his jaw and kissed him softly and he accepted wholeheartedly. 

Tyriene started to fuss in his arms. 

Arya laughed before she carefully took her from him and lay on the bed again to feed. She held Jaime’s hand in silence as he sat on the bed beside her and had his free hand resting on Joanna’s leg inside the bassinet.

It wasn’t long before Arya slept peacefully again, along with their girls, and in a moment it was just him, the sound of waves and his family’s breaths inside the small chamber.

Jamie tucked a loose curl from Arya’s forehead and kissed her brow as she slept deeply. His forefinger travelled the length of her cheekbone, to her jaw, stopping carefully at her full, pouty red lips. 

‘I don’t need you to tell me.’ Jaime thought happily. ‘I don’t need you to tell me because I’m not afraid about how I feel.’ 

“I love you.” Jamie whispered softly, his heart bursting with joy. “I love you so much, Arya Stark.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **YOU GUYS ALREADY KNOW I LIVE FOR YOUR COMMENTS! PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME BEG!**
> 
> 1.) If you feel like you missed out on their 'formal wedding', please don't fret. Next Chapter is a bonus chapter with multiple POVs, and it will cover a lot :) 
> 
> 2.) My real life got really busy somehow, so I'm sorry for the delay. Please send me good vibes because this pandemic booted me out of my fulltime job--that's really what I'm seeking now, but I'm in competition with millions of others :( 
> 
> 3.) I know, LONG CHAPTER! Most of you guys expressed that you like long chapters. So I will be keeping it that way. **Please still comment on the things that stood out to you, please?**
> 
> 4.) Surprised by Tywin and Pod? Let me explain. Podrick has traveled back with them this whole time! He just didn't have placement in the last chapter that I felt happy with. As far as Tywin, I can spoil the next chapter and say that once he found out that Arya was with child with the future lord of his freehold, he decided to situate himself at the rock instead of returning to KL. 
> 
> 5.) Jon may be a bit soft here, but please remember that he's also so much younger than Jaime! He's still got some growing up to do!
> 
> Anyway, I'm rambling. I cannot wait to see what you guys think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my very first Jaime/Arya fic!  
> I seriously thought this would be a one-shot at first--but my mind just kept going.  
> I only meant for this to be a feel-good fic--as you can probably already tell, I am no literary heavy-weight and this pandemic business finally enabled me to publish some of the stories in my head. I know full well that I am a light-read writer--but I don't know why I feel like I've always imagined these two together. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or any constructive critiques below! My English prof would likely admonish me for all the grammatical errors in this fic, but I hope I came across alright. :)


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